Yuthara's Gizka
by Bald as Malak
Summary: Chapter 5 added. Yuthura Ban, exSith and now fervent antislaver, finds Gizka the Exchange slaver and a few other nasty people. Who will she kill first?
1. Chapter 1

**Yuthura's Gizka**

**A/N:**

…+ This story first appeared in a KFM challenge on Gizka. However, this version of the story has been **greatly** modified, thanks to **Trillian's brilliant beta**! Enjoy

…+ I picture this as a small side-story that both stands on its own and could fit with my longer Patterns fic. In terms of the latter, this would be taking place before Bastila goes off to seek the Exile, but after Revan left (from my Part II).

* * *

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**Yuthara Ban (Korriban) **

I don't know how long I've been walking in the wastes of Korriban since Revan "rescued" me. Has it been a week, a month, a year? A decade? I don't know, and there is no way to measure it. I left all technology behind when I fled the Academy.

And frankly, I don't care. Or… at least, I can't figure out if I care. It's not something that I have the energy to consider right now.

The orange sun is beating down on me again, upon this wasted world in which I shuffle from shelter to shelter. My tattered cloths flap in the harsh, dusty wind, which seems to scrape my skin like sandpaper, the only other sound besides the crackling of the dried out shrubs as they sway to the wind's beating.

The body under the clothes is thin, almost all the flesh gone, leaving loose flapping skin wrapped around a loose collection of bones that don't seem to realize their impending doom.

I suppose I must be eating food and drinking water, though I can't seem to remember the times when I do. But whatever I am consuming isn't enough, for I can feel myself grow weaker and weaker as time passes.

Or maybe the reason for my failing health was simply that I did not wish to live. What could I do, who was a slave, failed Jedi and then disposed and "redeemed" Sith? What does one become after all that? Since all of my actions had only resulted in new masters, new codes, more deaths, and no end to slavery, perhaps I just decided that it was better to do nothing.

Part of me knows that I should just stop in the shade, and rest, but I can't stop. If I do, the thoughts and memories find me, and they are much more terrible than heat and the wind. I just want to get away from it all.

Maybe Revan can just keep going no matter what he is. Sith, Jedi, maybe something beyond now. Saviour, conqueror, servant and master. _I wonder what role he plays now?_

But I am not Revan. I need be something, to have something solid that anchors me, some sense of who I am, where I fit, and what my purpose in this life is.

Or maybe I'm putting too much rationality to my reasoning. I'm not sure that I'm sane.

But my musings are cut off. I hear a roaring sound approaching fast, louder than any terentatek I've ever heard. I look for somewhere to run, even as I part of me wonders why I'm bothering. But then I realize that the sound is coming from above. Looking up, I see a shadow in the sun approaching and my mind is stirring, trying to tell me what it is but the thoughts are so buried, it's taking them forever to form.

And the shadow is almost upon me and suddenly I'm thrown to the side by a harsh wind. My head slams into something hard and then it's a struggle to stay awake. Part of me wants to see what the shadow is… some kind of … ship… but the effort of getting up is suddenly too much. The weight of my past, now crashing back into my mind, and the despair that comes with it, hold me down and pull me towards a dark sleep. I close my eyes, hoping that the winds will strip the despair off my bones.

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I'm floating in darkness, a quiet stillness that does not recognize the boundaries of my mind. I am buried within it, not realizing that I have changed from the space of the blissful ignorance of my dream into forgetful waking. Only when I hear muffled laughter do I realize that the darkness is not absolute. On the other side of the door I now remember, light, sound, and smells wait to remind me that I am alive.

I don't want to be, because now that I know I am, I remember who I am: Yuthura Ban.

Some would call me a failed Sith. Others might only see me as another testament to the glorious achievements of Revan, another one who found redemption through the magnetic, saviour demi-god of our times. But I am not even that.

What do you call one whose every action is dictated by others? Perhaps the chains are no longer on my wrists, but the brand still sears my heart with every beat of my blood.

_Slave_.

Every struggle for freedom has brought me nothing. Each time I set out to be something, all I found was another group whose rules, however softly spoken or applied, imprisoned me. Hutt, Jedi, Sith, each found a way to make me into their vision of who I should be: warrior, whore, betrayer, "redeemed."

Even as Uthar's second in command, I had only become a replica of a "Sith," an extension of the desire of the former Dark Lord, Revan, and his successor, Malak. Traitor, plotter, killer: one of hundreds who followed their "passions" never realizing that those feelings had been embedded inside them according to the desires of another.

_Where is Yuthura Ban in all of that?_

I want to go back to dreaming, to the darkness and forgetfulness, but there is a soft knocking on my door and then a head pokes itself in. I can't see the face for the longest time, but finally my eyes adjust and I can that it is a woman. She is beautiful, her long, brown hair hanging loose around her head, her full lips slightly bending into a soft, hesitant smile.

"How are you?" the woman asks, her voice rich and seemingly wrapping itself around each word like a cat does around a loved one's ankles.

I don't know what to say. What can I say? _I'm… lost, confused, hungry… alone… I'm still a slave…_

She cocks her head and I realize suddenly that she is a Force user. _How could I not have seen that before?_ My mind is open, no shields protecting it and I feel my training screaming to the surface of my brain, fear and hate demanding that I kill this woman, Jedi or Sith, before she can find out more. I draw power into me instinctively, and the heady, oily feeling of it propels me off my bed, my sheets tumbling to the ground.

I realize vaguely that I'm clad only in my undergarments, but that doesn't matter. Not because I'm used to being barely clad or naked in front of my foes; that is one of my weapons. Now, it is the flaring power that almost instantaneously wraps itself around this woman, so bright and hot that it sends the shadows in my soul scurrying to the dark corners of my mind.

Should I attack her? I know that it will be futile; only in Revan and Malak have I ever seen such power before. For all that I have learned in my years with the Sith, I am but the lowest apprentice when compared to this one.

But victory is not what I seek, only the right to disappear, to hide my shame in exile… or perhaps death. _Would she kill me?_ I wonder, studying her face.

The gentle, half-smile is still there, despite all the power that blazes around her. It seems to invite me to laugh with her at this moment, to dismiss this deadly encounter as if it were a simple misunderstanding.

"_Jedi_," I sigh, dropping all but the shields over my mind. "You won't kill me," I continue, my face burning red when I realize I've spoken my mind thoughts aloud so carelessly. _Did she influence me?_ "Why?"

The woman drops her power completely, even the shields which guard her mind. "Not a Jedi," she says, "though I was once. Before I became a Sith and then was rescued by Revan."

"Revan." I sigh. I can feel her honesty, she's hiding nothing from me. I can see the ongoing struggle between dark and light written on her soul, and I see the new thing that she is becoming, something red and fiery, wild and powerful. It's so different from what I have seen before and I wonder what she will be when her battle is done.

Finally, I wrest my mind from its fascination in the swirling currents within her. "Is he here?" I don't sense him, but I have tasted the extent of his power and guess that he could mask his presence from me if he desired.

"No," the woman says, "but he told me about you."

"How long…" and then my voice catches, dry and unable to speak.

"He was on Korriban nearly a year ago," she says, her eyes catching mine and holding them.

"A year…" It seems impossible. _How could I have lost myself for a year? What am I becoming?_

I wonder if I should take her name from her mind, but I find that I want to wait for her to offer it to me. It's a strange sentiment for one who once carelessly tore information out of the unwilling mind of her students, but I realize that I don't want to use the Force anymore. Even the small shield now protecting my mind seems to burn my soul. Is it shame I feel or something else? I don't know, but it seems that this woman already knows my story.

"Now Revan has gone off again, on his own," the woman continues after a long silence. "New threat to the galaxy and all that. Personally, I think he did it to get away from my cooking."

The laugh that barks out of me, short and harsh as it is, surprises me. _She loves him_, I realize. _Not even I was that stupid_. Contempt and sympathy war suddenly within me, and I am frozen by the conflicting demands they make on my body and its reactions, until I slam them down into sections of my mind walled off long before I learned of the Force.

"No doubt," I respond finally, not knowing what else to say.

She shrugs, and I see that the graceful smile she wears is vulnerable weak, the pain within her causing the slightest tremble to its corners. "Are you hungry?"

I know I'm supposed to make some kind of remark—harsh, kind, or flippant perhaps—about the risk of trying the food she has prepared, but suddenly I don't have the energy for this game. It's too… much, she's too vulnerable and I don't even know what I'm doing on this ship, why I'm alive and whether I want to be…

"No," I say instead, and I push her away from the door with a light push of my power, before using it to slam the door shut. Sleep finds me just as I touch the rumpled sheets.

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This time, it is not the knocking of the woman on my door that wakes me but something wet touching my cheek briefly.

_How long did I sleep_? I wonder, wiping the droplet of condensation away with the blanket.

There should be dreams to help me gauge the passage of time. The murder of my first owner. The Sith teachers whose deaths I arranged when they threatened my coveted position as Uthar's lapdog. The many times that I spread my legs, and set aside my dignity, to distract Uthar and the other powerful Sith from the little treacheries and deceit I used to build power.

But I have not been dreaming, I realize. For the first time since I was eleven, I have slept without replaying the humiliation, and the hatred, that Omeesh the Hutt awoke in me when he decided to see how much he could degrade the soul of a young Twi'lek girl.

_How is this possible?_

I feel another light, wet touch on my cheek, and again I wipe it away. _Funny, it does not smell like water_.

And then I feel it. Small, soft, and warm, there is something buried between my side and the bed underneath.

It seems to recognize that I am now aware of it, because it shifts, moving itself around my pulling on my skin and the bed with its soft… paws until it finds what seems to be a more comfortable position.

I realize that it is making a sound, a cooing trilling that seems to pass lightly through my body like little waves of comfort. I recognize that feeling, it is part of the darkness that has wrapped me so tightly these past two nights. _Accept_, it seems to say, _let it all go._

_What magic is this?_ My hand steals out on its own and starts to rub the creature, slightly scratching the smooth, soft skin of what I realize now is a small gizka.

My hand keeps stroking the beast, even as I struggle to understand what is doing in my room. But no answers come, his trilling seems to scramble my thinking. I drift off again, my hands still wrapped around my new and unexpected companion.

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This time the ship's warp engines are humming when I wake up.

_Where are we going? Why do I feel… like I'm submerged in a large warm blanket in a cold room… the gizka, was it a dream? _I start to get up, intending to look for it, but then I realize that my hand is still resting on it. It is sleeping, I can tell, the rise and fall of its body slow and long. _Not a dream. Maybe it's just the Force laughing at me…_

But it stirs, and the trilling starts and the dark thoughts that had started to rise in my mind seem to flee before its innocence even as my fingers trail light touches down its spine.

"I would have killed you in a second, back on Korriban," I tell it after a while, smiling. "We didn't get many of your kind in the Academy and I've heard you make for a fine steak."

But my fingers get tired, and I'm starting to feel restless, edgy, hungry, though for what I don't know. Pushing the gizka aside, harder than I mean to, I feel around in the darkness for clothes.

I know I should turn on the light, but I find that I don't want to. Light means facing difficult questions, like what to do with myself and what does the woman driving the ship want.

But my stomach is growling and suddenly I'm tired of hiding. I'm close to the door before I feel the slight tugging on my leg, and realize that the gizka has clamped itself onto my pants. "I'm sorry, little one," I say as I pick it up, even as another part of my mind screams that I should not trust it, that comfort and dependence is a lie. Tucking it into my elbow, I open the door slowly, letting my eyes adjust to the increasing light streaming through the widening crack in the door.

When I'm ready, I step through the door into a curved hallway, which I follow into a small circular room.

I stand at the edge of the room, listening for signs of the woman. But I don't hear anything, and realize that perhaps she is asleep. I wonder if I should go look for her, to check in on her, to see if she's real, maybe to kill her if I get the chance.

_Kill her…_ It seems so natural to think of her as a threat, as another one more powerful than me to deceive, subdue, conquer. And yet this need to bring down those more powerful than me, it's jarring, out of place in this small, new and fragile world that seems to be forming around the gizka and I. I can't hold it in my mind. Instead, I follow the gizka as it pulls itself away from the crook in my arm and hops quickly towards one small room off the left wall. We enter into a small kitchen and soon we are both eating a hot plate of… something soft that I make from the ingredients in the cupboards of the kitchen.

At first, the bland food is hard to eat, though the gizka dives into it like it was the finest meal. And after a while, I also find that the food tastes better, or perhaps it's the feeling of being "full" that is growing inside my stomach. Either way, the gizka and I have second helpings, along with three glasses of some semi-sweet, thick liquid drink.

When we are done, I clean the dishes. I almost throw out the remaining food, but then I remember the woman and wonder whether I should leave her some. Finally, I do, placing the porridge in the small cooler under the counter. _If she's really a bad cook, then this won't be too bad._

After that, I decide to explore the ship. It's quite small, with a small storage space right beside the kitchen, the cockpit, the engine room, and one other bedroom whose door is closed. I wonder for a moment whether I should sneak into the room, but then the gizka starts cooing again and I find myself wandering toward the cockpit. Once there, it seems natural to just sit, stroke the gizka some more, and watch the many stars, glowing lights almost lost in the infinite darkness of the universe, go past.

Later, I hear the woman stirring in her cabin, and without thinking I get up and head quickly for my room. I close the door just as I hear her door open, relieved that she has not caught me outside. Not that I've done anything, but I just don't feel up to conversation right now, despite all the questions at the back of my mind that are screaming to be heard and asked.

Many days follow, and the pattern repeats itself. I wake up when the woman is asleep, eat, watch the stars go by, and then head to my room before she leaves hers. All this time, I have the gizka with me, until it feels almost like it has become a part of me.

The day when we arrive at our destination comes. I am woken up by the ship's shaking. _We must be entering a planet's atmosphere_. Finally, the bouncing ends. Two gentle turns, the ship slows, and then I feel and hear the bump as the ship lands on the surface. I can hear the different parts of the ship go quiet as the woman shuts them off. When she's done, I can hear her footsteps approaching my door, until she knocks on it.

I wait for her to enter, but she doesn't. So I pick up the gizka and make my way to the door, opening it up to find the woman waiting patiently on the other side.

"Where are we?" I ask, after nodding to her.

"Tatooine. Outside my home," she says simply. "Come."

I follow her silently outside. The surface is sandy and the wind strong and tricky, delighting, I find out quickly, in coating every pore on my body, and the gizka's, with the fine dry powder. I stick the gizka under my shirt, waiting until the woman's gaze is turned away before hiding my companion away from this harsh environment.

On our left, there is a small stony hillock, and at the top of it the outlines of a house. The walls of the house are built into the stone, so that it's difficult to tell where the house ends and where the hillock begins.

The woman beckons me to follow her and I do. We ascend towards the house following a narrow path that is carved into the side of the hill and which protects us partially from the wind. Ten minutes later, we arrive at the front gate, which the woman unlocks with a wave of her hand and two convoluted-looking keys.

Inside, there is a courtyard with a well to one side and, surprisingly, a couple of small trees. The house encircles the courtyard, the buildings of it built into the surrounding walls.

"That building," the woman says, pointing to the larger structure on the right, "is my bedroom and bathroom. You will be staying in my guest quarters," she continued, pointing to a smaller room to our left. When I nodded, she indicated the smaller room at the opposite end, "The kitchen is there."

The space in between the separate rooms was open, but covered by a ceiling. Through these spaces, the wind flowed, surprisingly smoothly. A few chairs and sofas indicated that this space could be used for relaxing.

The woman takes me on a tour of the guest room, showing me its facilities, which include two bookshelves that I discover contained many interesting titles. Next is the kitchen.

"Can you cook?" she asks me when we are finished, her voice and expression a bit shy.

"I never learned," I say, my voice flat, trying not to think of what I did learn when I was young.

"Of course," she says, and I find myself angry for the first time in months. _What does she think she knows about me?_ But the strange quiet that has settled over me keeps my tongue still.

The woman gnaws on her lip for a moment, and then stops when she seems to realize what she was doing. "I'm sorry."

"You didn't do anything."

After that, there is a long pause. I can see her struggling to find something to say. Finally, she shrugs her shoulders, and gives me a small smile. "I find that this place is good for healing old wounds, including those that come from being a Sith. I'm still working on those myself."

I wish I could smile back, but the wounds she speaks so casually about are still too fresh for me.

The pause is shorter this time, and then she half turns away from me. "Well, I'll see you in the morning." I guess she needs me to do something before she leaves, so I nod to show that I understand. She smiles briefly again, and then she walks away towards her rooms.

Once she closes her door, I walk into the kitchen, looking for a snack for the gizka and me. After we find the loaves of coarse bread and the blocks of soft cheese, we head back to the guest quarters. By the time we stop eating, the sky is dark outside.

I realize that I'm very tired, so I brush my teeth, strip, and bring my small friend into the bed. Stroking it, I find myself quickly drifting into sleep.

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We quickly fall into a rhythm, the woman and I. At first, it's the simple meals that I find when I enter the kitchen for breakfast. They are as terrible as she implied on the ship. They are no worse than I could accomplish, however, and the gizka likes them. Then, I would take long walks in the land around the house, losing myself in the silence and the winds that never stop blowing. Somehow, the sandy, harsh winds here are cleaner than those on Korriban. What they scrape from me is not my soul, but little bits of the pain, hurts and indignities that inhabit every pore of my skin.

Each day, the gizka rides on my shoulders or nestles in my arms.

After a week in her home, I realize that I love it this place the woman has chosen. The constant winds, the silence and emptiness, the tenacious life she has nurtured in her courtyard that survives in the midst of this barren world, they mirror what I feel inside. It's wild, with just the thinnest veneer of civilization. No jostling for power, no politics and enforced politeness, no empty distractions that bend the mind away from unfulfilled purposes.

I feel like I belong here.

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The days pass without marking, changing slightly and yet always the same, like the shifting dunes that fill meet the eye in every direction.

One day, I'm wandering on top of the small, rocky hill that overlooks her house. Looking down on the green oasis that this woman has created here, I see that she is working in the small garden that lies in one of the corners of the courtyard. Without thinking, I walk back to the house. She is kneeling in the garden, and I realize that she is plucking some of the plants away and leaving others.

"Why are you doing that," I ask, and she starts. Looking towards me, she gives me a small smile as she wipes the sweat off her brow. Amazingly, she still looks beautiful despite the sweat, dirty face and unkempt hair.

"If I let these weeds remain, they will make it difficult for my flowers and vegetables to grow," she says.

"How do you know which ones are weeds?" I ask, kneeling down near her, but just outside the garden. The gizka moves from its perch on my shoulder to my lap, and habitually, I start stroking its back.

"Well, I have this datapad," she says, nodding towards a small bag to my left, "which tells me."

I take out the small tablet and start to read, while the woman starts again with her task. After I've read it once, I carry the datapad and the gizka to the far corner. Then I place the gizka down, and using the pictures displayed on one of the pages as a reference, I start pulling out the little green and white flowers that are growing there among the other plants.

After that, it becomes our routine to meet in the early morning to work on the garden. I would bring the kaffa, the one thing I could make in the kitchen, she the datapad and the tools. I would read about what we had to do that day while she started, and then I would stop at the other end. After a few days, the gizka started to help too, though it took many days before it would pull out the right plants.

After we were done, the woman, gizka, and I would share some fruit and then she would go back into her home and the gizka and I would go for a long walk.

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One day, when we are eating some apples from Dantooine after a particularly long day of working on the garden. I realize there is one question I'm finally ready to ask.

"The gizka…?" I say, pulling it out from behind me.

"Ah… I was wondering when you would ask," she smiles. But then the smile fades away. "I guess you could say it's a survivor, like you and I. It came onto our ship, the _Ebon Hawk_, along with many other gizkas, on this planet, Tatooine. You should have seen them breed," she chuckles, though her eyes don't smile. "We started with twenty and before long they had doubled, and soon it became apparent that they would take over our ship. Well, by the time we arrived on Manaan, Revan and the rest of us were in the middle of a big fight about what to do about them. We couldn't decide, so I told the crew that we needed to give the matter a break until we had dealt with our business on the planet.

"Well, to make a long story short, the Mandalorian Canderous," she continues, her lip curling as she says the man's name, "who had joined our crew on Taris, decided to take matters into his own hands. Revan had asked him to resupply the ship, and Canderous decided that those supplies should include gizka poison. By the time that we got back to the ship, Canderous was hauling the bodies of those poor gizkas off the ship.

"But we soon discovered that one of them survived the poison. Canderous wanted to kill it, of course, and I'm not sure that Revan cared one way or another. But I put my foot down there, and so it stayed with us for the entire journey.

Her eyes are now smiling as she watches, and I'm expecting her to reach and touch the creature, to do something that reflects the affection I see lighting her eyes. _What will I do when she does want to touch it? Will I let her? Will it leave me and return to her arms? _

But she doesn't reach out for it, just continues her story as my body slowly relaxes from the tension that had filled it moments ago. "Even when we arrived on the planet of the Star Forge, where there were many other gizkas, it refused to leave our ship."

Bastila lifts her eyes away from the gizka, capturing mine as she continues. "The funny thing was, though, that it never let any of us touch it. Instead, it just burrowed through all the different little vents and shafts of the ships. Most of the time, I would only know it was still around but the sounds it made as it moved through the ship."

She pauses, and the silence stretches until I wonder if she's going to tell the rest of the story. And as I gaze into her eyes, I realize that the pain within her is rising to the surface again, that the rest of the story has a sad side to it. But I need to know.

"That ship we came in, it's not the _Ebon Hawk_," I say. The woman sighs, and then nods.

"No it is not. Revan took the _Ebon Hawk_ when he left. I guess this gizka understood enough to get off the ship before he left. An hour after the ship disappeared, I heard this creature moving around my home here. It's been with me ever since, though it still never lets me touch it." The woman sticks her tongue out at my lizard friend, and I surprise myself by laughing.

"And then," the woman continues, "when I left to come find you, I discovered that it had hidden itself on my new ship. Looking at it now, I wonder…" and her gaze wanders back to where the gizka sits in my arms, my hands stroking the top of its heads unconsciously. "I wonder if was looking for you."

"But my need," I blurt out, "couldn't be greater than yours." I stop, my face going red, my lekku stiffening in embarrassment. But what I've said is true. I can feel the pain inside the woman clearly now. Loneliness, uncertainty, self-doubt, they wrestle with the carefully constructed purpose I sense building within her.

"Perhaps not," she says, her gaze skipping down to her feet, "but I have Revan. Though he left me, I know he loves me and that he will return when he can. The fool," and a short, barking laugh bursts out of her, "thinks that I'm just going to wait here until he returns. I'm not that patient."

The passion that swirls within her now, the pain, the love, the determination… the purpose. It's dangerous, its strength as great as any I have seen in a Sith. But it is cleaner too, free of hate and the desire for power that permeated the Korriban Academy. _Could I be like this too…is this the path I can take to fight slavery?_

"Besides," the woman continues, "I have things I need to do too before, if the Force permits, I go to find him."

"How long before you leave," I whisper. _Where will I go…?_ In this short time, I have come to feel that this place is my home. The constant winds, the silence and emptiness, the tenacious life that survives in the midst of this barren world, they mirror what I feel inside, I feel like I belong here.

"You're welcome to stay as long as you like," she says, surprising me by reaching out and touching my shoulder.

"But this is your home," I whisper. "I couldn't…"

"Yes, you can. And you will, I insist. But if it makes you feel better, I will ask that you respect a few conditions. The first is that you do not enter my rooms," she says, looking me directly in the eyes.

I nod. "Also," she continues, her face becoming less intense, "and I'm sure this won't be a problem, please take care of the garden." She grins when I nod, catching the small smile that peeks out on my face before it leaves. "Finally, and I'm sorry I have to ask this, but when I do find Revan and 'escort' him back home, well…" she hesitates, her cheeks going red.

I wonder why I'm not jealous of her. She's so beautiful, so powerful, and she seems to be finding a way to be all that and not fall to the dark side. And she's so in love, and the most powerful man in the galaxy loves her back… But I'm not, and I guess it's because I'm not ready for all that. I don't want power and all the love I have is reserved for a small, smooth lizard who likes to eat the hillolli roots that the woman and I are working so hard to grow in our garden.

"I'll be out of here before then," I promise her, "just let me know when you're coming." I'm not sure where I will go, but the love I feel within her, the leaping delight as she thinks of her reunion with her lover, how could I get in the way of that?

"Thank you," she gushes, and suddenly I'm drawn into a fierce hug. At first, I freeze, my body like a board leaning into this woman, but then something in me unwinds, loosens and I'm hugging her too and we're crying. I don't know how long we hold each other, but when we let each other go finally, I realize that I'm feeling lighter, that all the shadows within me have been touched, if only for a moment, by this woman's incandescent light.

"What's your name," I ask suddenly.

"Bastila," she says, smiling at me and extending the hand she was about to use to wipe away the tears. "Bastila Shan."

"Nice to meet you, Bastila," I say, smiling too as I extend my hand. "My name is Yuthara Ban and I would like… I would like to call you my friend."

The smile she gives me seems brighter than the sun.

----------------------------

That night, as my eyes close, and gizka nestles against me, I marvel at the changes that are taking place inside me. Not so long ago on Korriban, I had given up hope, had waited, I realized now, for the wind to strip the pain and life from me. And now, though the anger and hurts of my past are still there, an hollow, echoing core buried within me, I'm finding ways to be… if not happy, then at least… _okay_.

And, more surprising, I have two unexpected friends. Bastila, wild and passionate, powerful and yet struggling to emerge from the horrors of her own fall. And a gizka, now cooing under my fingers again, who helps me chase away my dark dreams.

I have only a moment to go before sleep claims me, but I find that there is one last thing I need to say before this day ends.

"You are the only one," I tell the gizka, "I have ever let stay in my bed." It coos and nestles deeper into my side, and I feel content.


	2. Chapter 2

**Yuthura's Awakening**

_A/N: Thanks to Trillian for a wonderful beta!_

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+ 

**Yuthura (Approximately One Year After Revan Left) **

"I will be back in about a month, Yuthura," Bastila pauses, looking around at her home as she stands before me. The sun is close to setting, painting the houses an orangey yellow while the sand in the courtyard dances to the tune of Tatooine's stirring breath.

It takes Bastila several minutes to continue, but her calm face does not mask from me the heart wrenching sadness that the slight shifts in her body reveals. I know her too well, we've shared too much.

"You can stay here until then," she says finally, as if the pause had never happened, "and I will contact you a few days before I return. That should give you enough time to prepare."

"I may leave before then," I respond, putting on the best smile I can, knowing that it will not mask the sorrow that also wells up inside of me.

"You could…" Bastila hesitates, and I can see the fight playing itself across her face as compassion and need struggle for dominance. Compassion wins and, reaching out to touch my arm, she continues. "You don't have to leave. Please stay; Revan and I will find a way—"

I pull my friend tightly into a hug before she can finish, gratitude swelling inside of me. "No, Bastila, but thank you. I promised I would leave. Besides, I would never come between you two."

Bastila doesn't say anything, just squeezes me back. We hold each other for a long time before I gently push her away.

"Will you be alright," she asks, and I realize that tears are cascading down my face, making vivid lines across the tattoos of my past.

"Yes," I say, not daring to say more as her eyes probe. I hope that she will not read my mind.

"I will miss you," she says after a moment, pulling me into another quick hug. Then she picks up her bags and descends the path to where her ship awaits. Just before she enters the ship, she gives me a last wave.

As I watch Bastila's ship rise into the sky, I let the sorrow within me escape the tight bonds I had placed on it. But the real reason for the sadness within me is not what Bastila assumes, or at least, is only the smaller portion of it. My sadness now, it is for Bastila that I grieve.

She will not be back in the month she said, nor will she find Revan. Not this time. My friend's wait will be much longer than she knows. The Force has told me so.

The Force is a capricious thing. I do not know why it chose to reveal Bastila's future to me, who has turned away from it.

It's not that I consciously vowed not to use the Force. It's just that I don't. I have not used it deliberately since Revan "rescued" me from the Sith and stripped away the illusions I had wrapped myself in so thoroughly. He had showed me that, instead of helping me end slavery, my search for power had enslaved me.

So, perhaps, it's because I have been the slave of too many things, and now I will only be the thrall of one: my first and only true vow, to end slavery.

Jinti nuzzles its hand against my hand, and I stroke it absently. "I wish I could have told her," I say to it, and it coos softly.

For days I've thought very hard about how I could reveal to her what the Force showed me. But I couldn't find a way; there was no way to tell her that she would believe. She can't. Everything Bastila has constructed, this house, within her, they need a keystone—the vital piece that takes what is fragile and makes it solid.

Bastila thinks that Revan is that final crucial piece, but my friend is wrong. Only she can provide it, but she needs to learn that on her own.

_My poor friend. The Force, life, they are hard, unforgiving teachers._

The gizka hops from my hands and heads towards the kitchen. I follow it, enjoying the slight sting of the sand the wind is kicking up. The shadows seem to race across the courtyard as I cross it, and by the time Jinti and I finish our meal, the stars are scattered like the tears of light across the black velvet in the sky.

I have been lying to myself too. The thought of leaving here, it grips my heart in fingers colder than Uthar's eyes.

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**Yuthura, Two Weeks Later **

Despite myself, I like the feel of the new clothes against my skin. The shirt and pants I wear now are loose, but they conceal only partially the voluptuousness that first attracted Omeesh the Hutt's attention. I had hoped it would not return, that I would keep the wasted body that Korriban had reduced me to, but life will not be denied it seems. Even here, in Tatooine's callous environment, the full figure that has been mine since I was too young has returned with a vengeance.

I stroke the gizka softly as I consider the small green garden. As it does every day, the sun is searing the land. The air around us is almost white, rippling as if it sought to elude the gaze of the harsh sun, but Jinti and I are sheltered in the shade of the stunted tree that Bastila and I worked so hard to revive these past six months. The growth on it is still sparse, mirroring I feel the little pockets of hope that still struggle to sprout within me.

Not far from me, half-harvested rows of vegetables are holding fast in the heat of the sun, their leaves seeming to pop in and out of sight as if to mock my thoughts of harvesting them.

I had planned to do finish gathering all the hilloli roots this morning, but after an hour my impatient Jinti had grabbed the leg of my pants and dragged me for a walk. Now, with our bellies full from a small lunch, and our backs cool from the shade, the prospect of leaving our shelter seems as warped as the heat waves that rise from the ground.

Instead, I find myself continuing the musings that have occupied much of today. I suppose it's because this day marks an anniversary. It's been a year since Bastila brought me here after rescuing me from Korriban, a year since Jinti claimed me for his own. And a little over two years since Revan defeated me in the tomb of Naga Sadow, and showed me the self-delusions behind my pursuit of power.

_How can I leave this place? It's the only place where I have found peace since… since my brother's room when I was seven_. I feel like I've been reborn here. The winds that strip away pretensions, the emptiness that touches the sadness in me and makes it sing, the heat that demands one's full attention, or one's sacrifice, I will miss these for the rest of my life. In this place, I have learned to welcome, even to love, the dark and empty places within me. Sadness has its own beauty, and though the pain underneath it will never truly leave, I have accepted both as part of me.

And yet, somehow, against all common sense, I know that Tatooine holds nothing more for me now. Though I could easily build my own house somewhere nearby, in another corner where no one would find me, there is an old promise that I want to keep. A vow I made when degradation first found me at the hands of one who claimed to own me. It was the first thing I knew I really wanted to do, and yet it's the goal that I've always put second until now.

I want to free the slaves.

I know it's an impossible task. Only action by the Senate could make a crucial difference, and yet many better suited, more eloquent advocates than I have already pleaded there without success. And now, with Republic so damaged and so many systems and species considering independence, the Senators would never consider it.

So I have to do it by myself, even if I can't free them all. It's likely I won't even be able to find most of them. There are too many, on too many systems hidden in too many mines, complexes, homes, and other locations mundane and mysterious. Those that trade in slaves and those that use them, they have learned the ways of hiding their sins, just out of sight, at the corner of the law's narrow gaze.

But they can't all hide, for I will never stop looking for them until they stop me.

The prospect of failure, it won't be my excuse anymore. I won't wait any longer to gain more power, learn more tricks, or build my army. Though the lesson has been long in coming, I realize now that there will never be point where my success is guaranteed, no time when I will be more ready than now.

I don't realize how long we've been sitting here until I see the evening breeze slides across my face like a cool balm for my poor weathered skin. Sensing that I'm ready to get up, Jinti jumps out of my lap and heads towards our room. I quickly brush the dust off my lap and follow. I will put him to sleep and then I will bring a lamp and finish harvesting the garden.

I'm leaving tomorrow, and I won't leave this last job half done. I gave my word to Bastila that I would look after her garden until I left.

I now keep my promises.

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**Yuthura. Early the next morning. **

The sun has not yet risen when I start up the old speeder that Bastila gave me to use. As it warms up, the dew on its sides misting briefly before dissipating into the air, I ease Jinti into the sling I made for him last week. Once my friend is secure, I wrap my jacket around it.

"That should keep you safe," I mutter, as it wriggles, pushing its head from side to side until it finally settles down with a chirp. Chuckling to myself, I mount the speeder.

_This should be interesting_. I have never ridden a speeder before, or anything else that moves. _Unless you include men in that category_. The thought is unbidden and I snort as I push it aside, trying to ignore the bitter anger that taints my mouth like rising bile.

I start off slow, following the instructions that Bastila gave me. I can still hear her voice in my head. "Gently rotate the two handlebars, each the same amount, as slow as you can. When the speeder starts to move, stop accelerating and get used to the feel of it. Then, when you're ready, try a few small turns until you feel comfortable. Add a bit more power, try it out, take a few turns. Keep doing that until you get to a respectable speed. No need to go too fast, anyway. Anchorhead isn't a place one runs to, it's somewhere you go when you're escaping from somewhere else."

I follow her advice, increasing the throttle until the speeder starts to move. It seems easy, the speeder thrums lightly between my legs as we inch forward down the gulley that cuts through the hillock upon which Bastila's home rests to the desert beyond.

I wait until we are in the endless rolling plains of the sand landscape before I try my first turns. I lean to the right, and it works for a moment but my lean becomes an unbalancing, and then suddenly Jinti and I are lying on my back in the sand while the speeder floats upside down just above.

After brushing the sand off my clothes, I try again, and again I fall when I try to turn. One more time, but the result is the same.

_Three times is too much!_ Memories of hard won power, effortless skills, and the fawning of others comes into my mind, burning away humiliation and thought. My lips twist and my fingers extend towards the offending machine. I want to sear it with my rage, the blinding light that bursts through cracks within me that I thought had been sealed this past year.

But the frantically cooing gizka is slobbering all over my face, and so my fury turns to it. The creature is frightened, I sense through my red-rimmed rage, and part of me reaches towards it to feed. But as I touch it, I realize that the gizka does not fear me but fears for me. The anger, it melts, a red mist that flees before the sun of Jinti's love, until I can finally laugh and wipe the sticky drool off my face.

Later, and drier, I stand up and brush the sand once more from my clothes, shaking my head this time as well to dislodge the sand pasted on to my lekku and forehead, while Jinti starts to nestle once more into the sling.

And then, I'm ready to admit to myself that I'm terrified, so scared that I almost burned my dear friend and a hapless speeder. Taking a deep breath, I turn towards the sun and let it warm my freezing soul.

"Why do you stay with me, when I am a fool?" I ask it when I've stop shivering, but it ignores me, leaning instead towards the speeder.

_Well, there must be a way to do this. It can't be that hard_. But there's something wrong with me, or the instructions that Bastila gave me, because I keep getting dumped in the ground when I try to make the slow turns. Each time, I take deep breaths while Jinti seems to watch me carefully. And now the sun is reaching its peak, and I will have to choose between baking or fleeing towards the shelter of Bastila's home.

The thought of going back, though, when I've already made the difficult choice to leave, doesn't seem tolerable.

_Well, let's just go straight for a while, and see how that goes._

I start slow, but this time I keep applying more power, bit by bit, going faster and faster. A large dune is quickly approaching me, and I'm wondering if I should slow down, but then, without my conscious choice, I feel my eyes narrow, my body crouch down to hug the speeder, and my hands increase the speed.

A part of me screams as we cover the last few metres before the dune, but then we're flying up the side, sand kicking up behind us and in a moment we're over the rise, down again, then up, and though my stomach protests, I barely hear it over the growing exhilaration. Beyond reason, I keep increasing the speed until the speeder seems almost ready to leap off the tops of each peak I ascend.

My teeth and lips feel like sandpaper and my lekku are flapping so hard behind me that I feel like I'm going to be pulled off, but I can't stop grinning as Jinti and I hurtle past the last dune and into the flat wastes beyond. Faster, faster I push the speeder until there is no more power to give and the land is a blur except for the narrow tunnel in front of me.

I think I would have driven like that until the fuel ran out, but after a while I can see another barrier rising out of the horizon. A large, stone ridge cuts like a wall across the expanse, and only a narrow cleft divides it. This must be the pass that Bastila told me about, and my grin widens as I consider my blind luck in finding it. But my current direction will not take me there, only to a fiery death in the walls beside it.

I know I should slow down, perhaps even stop and push the speeder in the right direction, but I don't want to. I love this feeling, the sand hissing by, the tears from the wind drying almost before they leave my eyes.

_So, let's try this turning thing again._ Caution has not served me well today, so perhaps boldness will. I lean again, not slowing even a little, and the speeder rockets into a turn. I feel like I'm being compressed into the speeder as I circle in the plains. One time around, a second, and I'm laughing, then screaming in victory as I complete a third, then a fourth circuit. By the time I start the fifth, however, I'm getting dizzy, so I try to ease away from it.

I go too far, and suddenly I'm turning the other way. I keep trying though, and finally I start to get it, until I'm weaving back and forth across the plain like… I chuckle to myself, _like Revan trying to choose between the dark and light side. _

But the thought steals my joy, replacing it with fear. Because now the piloting of this speeder now seems so easy, natural, instinctive. _Am I drawing upon the Force?_ _I can't feel myself channelling it, but there's something…_ I sort through my different senses, checking each. The acrid scent of the dessert, the touch of the wind and sand, the wavering heat in the distance, they all seem as they should, and yet they are sharper, more distinct, more everything than they have been for a long time.

And the fear drops away, because I realize that while I'm not deliberately using the Force, it is touching me all the same, the voice and hands of a mother who gives even when her child forgets to ask.

But it's confusing too, this acceptance by something I twisted for so long in my hate, and then ignored while I healed. _How can the Force be so trusting and so dark at the same time? How can the bitter fuel that feeds my rage and the sweet touch that caresses me now be the same thing? _

And, as if my thinking of them calls them from the shadowed alcoves in my core, I can feel again the dark side beckoning. This time, it is like the horn that summons warriors to test their strength, to challenge the fates, to wrest victory from all opposition.

I try to put both aside, but neither will cede the field that my soul has suddenly become. Old hurts, forgotten promises, slights and injuries, and the fragile, budding gift of two unexpected dear friends, they swirl inside me, fill my sight until I think I will be lost in them, twisting between poles, circling a center I can never approach.

"Fight your battle somewhere else," I finally scream. Desperate, driven by instinct, I steer the speeder towards the cleft in the ridge, accelerating until I've reached top speed. The battle continues as I approach, but becomes less important, fades to the background as my eyes narrow, calculating the path I will take, counting down the heartbeats before the first turn must be taken.

_Now_, wafts the nutty, warm scent of bread, a recipe I had learned to make over the last year, and I lean as far as I can to my left. Sparks fly from the bottom of the speeder as it scrapes a small protrusion on the far wall.

_Now_, screeches the shyrack of Korriban, their eternal hatred for all life bouncing off the walls of this canyon. This time, the turn I make is to the right, the next one the blink of an eye away.

_Now_, whispers the soft lilting voice of Bastila; _now_, commands the sneering Uthar. And for the final turn, no voice, just a sticky, wet swipe on my cheek.

Then I'm through to the other side and I can see another wavering splotch of colour in the distance, this one a simple rock hillock that Bastila told me was the next landmark.

After that, I lose myself in the thrumming of the speeder and the hissing of the sand as it whips past my ears. Steering the vehicle is effortless now, as natural as breathing. This moment of peace, it's a blessing, for I know finally now what is to come.

When I had decided earlier to finally enter this fight against slavery, I had chosen to do it as one without power, to use only the wit and brawn I possessed. I had been scared of my power, afraid that it would seduce me away from my quest again. But this last illusion has been stripped from me now, my final gift from Tatooine.

I have power, dark and light, a greater strength than I've ever admitted to myself until now. _Enough_, I realize now, _so that I could have disposed of Uthar long before Revan cut him down on Korriban. Enough to free many of the chained before I die._

_But I have been scared, too petrified to start. I sought a path, some way to enter this battle that would be safe. But the light side can not encompass my outrage, my conviction to do whatever it takes to stop those that prey upon the weak. And the dark side has no place for the love that summons me to battle. _

_I must walk my own path, like Bastila, not knowing where it will lead me or whether I will make a difference. I must walk it simply because it is the right one for me._

And if that means I must be alone, forever hiding from the Jedi who ignore the cries of the slaves, and fighting the Sith that feed on them? What happens to Yuthura Ban when she steps outside away from the battle between dark and light, and takes on both sides? _She will_ _grow stronger, and her destiny and one gizka will be company enough. She will fight, and never give up. When the day comes for her to die, she will do so knowing that she has done all that she could for what is right…_

_I know who I am now. I know my strength, and I accept all that I am. Let the slavers beware._


	3. Chapter 3

**Yuthura's Unexpected Catch (Part I)**

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**A/N: Thanks as always to Trillian for a wonderful beta! **

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_Beware what you search for. You might find it._

**Gizka. Three years after the fall of Malak.**

As I approach Zeng, I find myself absorbed by the sultry look on her face, and I have to stop to take it all in. The full lips half open, the tongue that flicks across them as she listens, half-closed eyes that smoulder with full-blooded heat, the tilt of her head, halfway to a kiss, that she keeps only a few inches from her customer's. Even the horns on her head add to the image. The mind warns us of their danger—a step into the fire—but the heart does not heed.

It would make a great painting, but my duties do not allow the time. _Still, I should take a holo. It might make a good advertisement for the club._ Pulling out my datapad, I make a note to hire a photographer tomorrow to take some shots of her.

I take a moment longer to admire Zeng's face. I wonder for a moment how much of it is an act. I've asked her before, but she's never told me. "Trade secret," she always whispers in my ear when I ask. I guess it doesn't matter; she loves her job. Still, I keep asking. Maybe it's because I treasure the tingle of her hot breath on my ear.

I love my women. I carry little mementos—a look, the lilting sound of a certain phrase, a heady scent—from each and every one of them.

I could watch Zeng forever, seeing how she plays this man until he's willing to pay anything to have her. Unfortunately, I have a meeting with the Procurer in thirty minutes, and so I need to finish my rounds. I allow myself a little sigh before approaching the Zabrak woman. I'm not worried about the contemptuous look the two men nearby give me, nor how they inch away from me.

Zeng's face slips out of sultry and into a big welcoming smile as I approach, and I feel warm inside as she wraps me up into a big, tight hug, ignoring the look of rage that the big, burly man beside gives us. Then she lets go, cupping my cheek for a moment. "It's good to see you, Gizka," she says, the burr in her voice sending shivers down my spine. "What can I do for you?"

The man she's with, he's got that look that I'm so used to now, the one painted across time that I always seem to bring out in my gal's customers. First there's the puzzlement: _Who is this male Twi'lek, why is he approaching me and what's his kind doing in my rough bar?_ Then, the rage follows: _How dare this pathetic cripple talk to my woman and why is she being so nice to the prima donna?_ After that, the gears click and there's the guardedness that only one word can invoke: _Exchange_.

There was a time when I loved seeing the bullies take on that wary look at the end; they owed it to me for what they had done to me. But those years are past and I've set my sights on those behind the muscle—the ones who gave the orders that almost destroyed half my body.

"Nothing today, Zeng. I'm just checking up on my gals. You doing okay? Need anything that I can get?"

"Gizka, what I want you can't get or…" she bends forward, whispering again into my ear, "you won't give me." She gives my ear a quick bite, and then pulls back. I try, and fail, to contain the blush that turns my blue cheeks purple.

"Okay, Zeng. You take care." I nod to the man beside her, who gives me a grudging nod back. Turning away, I can already her Zeng's slightly husky voice easing the man past his resentment.

I see five other girls before I have to go to my meeting. They all seem to be doing fine, though one of them tells me that Tilli at the Porch needs an appointment to the doctor to take care of an "accident." It's a service I make sure to provide for them. No protection is perfect and I don't want the girls to be worrying about anything except paying off their contracts. Though many of the ones I choose for this line of work never do try to get out. When I ask them why, they always say the same thing: Gizka take care of those who work for him.

I do try. After all, even slaves deserve a chance to work at something they're good at and enjoy.

After setting up Tilli's appointment, I catch the eye of my two bodyguards and nod at the exit.

Many of my counterparts use Gamorreans as their guards, but Gamorreans don't fit the clean, quiet clean way I like to do things. Plus they clash with bodyguards.

The one who meets me at the door is Jahati, a golden Cathar who likes to add red highlights in strategic areas of her fur. Like me, she favours clothes that fit close to the body, though it certainly works better on her than me. Beautiful and deadly, she always seems to flow across the floor, so much so that I offered to give her the nickname "Glide." It's the one I secretly wished I could earn, but the leg that drags behind me as I walk means that it will never happen. Jahati always refuses though, to my regret. She says that her name is good enough, though she will never tell me what it means.

We wait at the door until my other bodyguard, Wisanu, opens it from the outside. Wisanu always goes outside first, scanning the area for threats before I leave any place. Like Jahati, she's more beautiful than a wannabe artist like myself deserves, and as deadly. She tells me that her name means _purpose_ in Echani and I believe her. She always moves as if she knows where she's going and nothing is going to stop here from getting there. Even the Gamorrean thugs that my bosses employ here on Nar Shaddaa know better than to get in the way when she starts moving. When I visit the compound, it's like Wisanu is the clean, sharp knife that cuts through the putrescent flesh of a wound gone bad. I'm always glad to follow her lead.

The other wonderful thing about Jahati and Wisanu is that they're very good at finding threats before they find me. Last year, the Hutts tried to kidnap me by staking out my home. Jahati smelled their Gamorreans a klick out. A few quiet comm calls after that, we entered my house. Ten minutes later, the Hutt thugs followed. Problem is, they couldn't find us—courtesy of a secret exit in the floor—and they couldn't get out because after they entered, thick durasteel alloy sheets slammed down over all the windows and doors.

It took a few days before the would-be kidnappers were hungry enough to talk. A couple of weeks later, a Hutt slaver died from eating poisoned grubs.

Of course, I offered Wisanu and Jahati a raise after that. Wisanu said she would take one when I did and we all had a good laugh.

I trust Jahati and Wisanu completely. Well, almost.

I shake my head, pushing the past memories aside, and step into the luxurious air speeder that waits outside, company-provided transport. Jahati joins me inside my boss' vehicle, while Wisanu follows on her smaller one.

_Usually I'm more focused; there's something in the air that's making me think more than I want to about this life I live. _

It doesn't take long to get to the Procurer's fortified estate. When people see his vehicle and its entourage of speeders coming, they get out of the way. Everyone knows on Nar Shaddaa that nuisances to the Procurer can easily become merchandise.

My boss' estate occupies an entire building. Gamorreans are everywhere on the outside, as are many male Twi'leks, Rodians, Aqualish and other thugs. _Too many_. Jahati nods when I turn to glance at her; she sees it too. Something bad must be going on for my boss to adding on to his security; he's always prided himself on his impregnable fortress.

My estimation of my boss' caution goes up a notch when we arrive at the front gate. Usually, a few of the more intelligent Twi'lek males in the Procurer's employ man the gates, but this time four Mandalorians greet us. Fully armoured, each carries a repeating blaster rifle on their backs and a vibrosword in their belt. As effective as they are, Mandalorians are also expensive, and it's not just for their shiny armour. Even hiring them for short-term contracts can put a serious dent in a month's profits.

_The Procurer's not going to be in a good mood… _Part of me doesn't care, even hopes it's true, but I feel a pulse of pain in my damaged right knee, and my right cheek twitches involuntarily.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" the lead Mandalorian says, his voice light. "Surely you ladies deserve a better escort that his pathetic _Cantis_ can give you," he says, moving to step between my bodyguards and me. The man starts to push me away, but Jahati steps forward before he can finish, her body suddenly low, her hands driving through his body so that the Mandalorian flies backwards into the door. In the next moment, the rest of the Mandalorians aim their rifles at us and Jahati and Wisanu have their pistols out and aimed as well. _This could end badly._

"Ease up, boys," the Mandalorian on the ground, chuckling. Standing up, he dusts off his armour for a moment before sauntering over, taking his time. Though his eyes are hidden, it's clear that his eyes are roaming liberally over the curves of Wisanu and Jahati.

"I had heard that you girls were fierce," he says finally, "but you looked too fine for me to believe it. Should," he bows, "you decide that you want to engage in some battles with men more worthy of your talents, we would be pleased—"

I step between Wisanu and Jahati and then jab at the Mandalorian's chest with my cane. He doesn't move, anticipating as I expect that the blow will be feeble. What he does not realize until he hits the wall again is that weak doesn't mean stupid. The other Mandalorians train their guns on me once again, but I ignore them, examining my cane to see if the explosive charge damaged it. To my relief, the shine is still immaculate.

"Perhaps," I say, looking at the Mandalorian who is still trying to get his breath back, "they prefer someone who doesn't sit on his ass all day."

Wisanu and Jahati start to move forward to cover me as I move towards the remaining Mandalorians, but I wave them back. They flick worried glances at me as I proceed alone, and I'm a little nervous too. The Mandalorians don't say anything as I walk between them towards the one sitting sprawled against the wall, but their guns never leave me.

"My name is Gizka," I say, extending my hand to the winded Mandalorian. "I believe if you look at that list on the table over there, you will see that the Procurer is expecting my visit."

The Mandalorian looks at my face for a moment, and then to my relief chuckles as he accepts my hand. I mask the twinge I feel in my right leg as I pull him up.

"I like you," he says when he's up. "The Twi'leks we see, well they're either on their backs or they're weasels like the ones around here," he says, sweeping his arm out towards the thugs all around.

Looking at the many Twi'lek thugs that circle the building, I can't help agreeing with the Mandalorian, as distasteful as it is. We Twi'lek truly have fallen low. So few of us have legitimate work these days, including myself, and even fewer rise far, no matter what the profession. And the women have it harder than the men; it's as if the galaxy has decided that they are all born slaves or prostitutes.

It makes my blood boil, that I find myself agreeing with this filthy Mandalorian about the unworthiness of my people. But I am too practical to let my emotions take over.

"Nice to find one who isn't afraid," he says, extending his hand towards me. "Go on through and my apologies for the mix-up."

I want ignore his hand, for though there is no real contrition in his voice. But there is a note of respect there, just a slight hint of it, which does just fine.

"Now that the war is over," I say, grabbing the hand, "we must all try to be friends." Turning towards Jahati and Wisanu, I gesture for them to lower their weapons, and the Mandalorians follow suit. Then I walk through the door.

Once we are out of earshot of the mercenaries, Jahati grabs my arm and whispers furiously. "How can you stand that insult? Why do you let him live?"

It's an old argument between us, and Wisanu sighs, tapping her foot while I respond. But this time I don't feel like giving my well-practiced answer about diplomacy over strength and other ideas along that vein. There's something in the air tonight that disturbs me, and so I tell the truth unthinkingly, my eyes boring into Jahati's, willing her to understand.

"Jahati, think about it. If I die, who is going to look after you? Despite all the skill that you have, how long will it be before your next boss wants something more than protection? And then when you tell him to lick his own ass and volunteer to help him…" It's hard to continue with a serious face, because Jahati has this big, toothy smile on her face and I want to laugh with her. But I also want her to understand. "When that happens, and he gets upset, it doesn't matter how many of his guards you kill because they will get you after that."

"No, Gizka, it's you who doesn't understand! There are only two things that I care about: Wisanu and you. And I hate seeing all these simple-minded, muscle-heads pushing you around. You're worth more than a hundred of them and—" she stops, turns her ear towards the hallway and soon after I hear footsteps approaching from the elevators.

"We talk about this later," I say, and Wisanu and Jahati nod. As one, we move towards the sound, coming around the corner to face Tweezers, the personal assistant to the Procurer.

"What's taken you so long?" the small Rodian, says, his eyes squinting as he studies us carefully. His clothes are brown and non-descript. Two light pens are in his right hand, clicking together in that compulsive rhythm that earned Tweezers his nickname.

"A few small problems with the new guards, Tweezers," I say, shrugging my shoulders. "It's all sorted now."

Tweezers searches our faces, looking for some sign of a lie or weakness, but each of us wears the bland smile I had us perfect last year. Finally, he gestures us to follow him. "He's on the twentieth floor," he says as we enter the elevator.

Wisanu, Jahati, and I exchange knowing looks. The Procurer usually stays in his penthouse on the sixtieth floor. If he's staying on the twentieth, then something has him not just cautious, but scared. Very scared.

We're searched three times by the guards we pass on the way to the Procurer's safe room, and four guards have bloody noses, and one a broken arm, from trying to too liberal with Wisanu and Jahati. Finally, we arrive at thick doors that split before us and we enter to meet The Procurer.

"Gizka, come in" says the Hutt, his voice friendly, no hint of the fear that has driven him up to the twentieth floor. Wisanu and Jahati settle themselves at the entrance; the Procurer allows no bodyguards in his presence. I enter the room and then bow towards the Procurer. For some reason, he likes small formalities.

The Procurer doesn't say anything for a while, concentrating instead on the papers in front of him and the thick-skinned, red fruit in a nearby bowl.

For a Hutt, the Procurer is quite rare. Very few Hutts ever join the Exchange, preferring their own criminal organization instead. However, the Procurer is a rare Hutt outcast, forced to leave his race because his "corpulence did not demonstrate adequate evidence of wealth and decadence."

Despite eating as much as he can, the Procurer can not gain weight, remaining a slim and trim three hundred kilos instead of the expected seven hundred and more. His torso and arms ripples with muscles uncovered by the normal flab of his species, and his eyes seem almost monstrously large in the smaller, rounder head.

But I think the Procurer no longer stuffs himself in the hopes of re-entering Hutt society. As he eats the fruit beside the papers now, his motions and attitude reveal more of habit than of desperation.

Besides, when he chooses too, he can move quite quickly. His unexpected speed helped him escape three assassination attempts before he gained enough power to afford the guards he has today.

Finally, the Procurer puts down the papers and turns his watery gaze towards me. "Have you seen anything suspicious in the last two weeks?" he asks, direct as always when it comes to business.

"No. Why do you ask?" With the Procurer, I know it's best to keep the answers simple, direct, and honest.

"Someone has been killing operatives in our ranks," the Hutt says. His eyes search mine for a moment before continuing. "We haven't caught whoever is doing it, and they seem to be finding their way too easily up our chain of command. At their rate of progress, I believe you will be a target in about two weeks unless we can stop this travesty."

"Vogga the Hutt's men?" I ask.

"Not unless they've started wielding lightsabres," the Procurer rumbles, tossing photos across the table at me. The holographic images show bodies savagely wounded, some even dismembered and defiled. Many of the wounds are cauterized, the mark of lightsabre cuts.

"A Jedi gone bad," I breathe, then chuckle, "or a Sith gone good." The Procurer grunts, but then returns to his perusal of the photos.

On occasion, a rogue Jedi will try to infiltrate the organization and bring its leaders to justice. Sometimes, they even succeed for a short while, but then we either find a way to kill them or to fool them by providing false leaders filled with false information.

As for the Sith, we deal with them frequently, though they have become far rarer since Revan defeated them three years ago. Generally, the Jedi's dark brethren either purchased slaves or extorted money from us. Even though we've developed ways of protecting our subordinates against all known truth drugs, the mind powers of Jedi and Sith are harder to foil, in part because each Jedi is unique in strength and, often, technique. So the Exchange is usually glad to give the Sith what they want, especially since they often supplied us with prospective slaves, often for surprisingly cheap prices.

But I don't like them, for each time I see a dark Jedi I can smell the madness of them, the frenzied need to inflict pain and let blood.

"Whoever and whatever the assassin is," the Procurer says after a while, "he is effective."

"Or she," I say automatically, and the Procurer ignores me. I keep looking at the holograph printouts. There's something funny about them as if something's missing, something that I can't quite put my finger on.

The Procurer is speaking to me, but the words don't penetrate until he is almost done. "…be careful."

"I'll be careful," I say, still distracted by the photos, "and can I suggest that you move to another location, so that I don't know where you are." I don't need to tell him that I can be broken in interrogation; it's something he knows too well.

The Procurer laughs deeply, his whole body shaking. "That's what I like about you Gizka. Despite being the best asset to slavery since the first manacle, you still have a good streak in you. And since it makes your 'enhanced merchandise' very valuable and biddable, I'll forgive you that." The grin he gives me makes the side of my cheek ache.

"But leaving here is not a good idea" he says after a moment, his eyes searching mine. Despite all that he has done to secure my 'loyalty,' he still doubts me on occasion. _And so he should, though I can't imagine how I will ever defy him again._

"The assassin is using stealth," the Procurer continues, "and trickery to get his targets. Better to wait here where all my defences are, then give him a chance to approach me on less tested ground." The Procurer pauses. "You must stay here too, Gizka, because you are much too valuable to lose. You can sort the slaves here just as easily as anywhere else."

"No," I say automatically. The Procurer and others have often asked me to confine myself to safe locations since the first day my talent was discovered. And I have always refused, telling them that I can't do what I do if they take away my ability to get out and meet the woman I select for them.

I hate my talent, but I love it too.

I wish I understood how it works. All I know is that for every hundred slaves, there are three to four that have the potential to be really valuable, and only I have the ability to identify and "train" them. Zeng loves seducing men, and I tell her how she can become a high-class prostitute at a club that will make her slavery as comfortable as it could be. Wisanu and Jahati love the hunt and I gently push them into training with the best assassins from the Exchange. After all, it's better than servicing men in the alleys of the Refugee sector, right? Reema loves to manage investments, and I show her how she could be in charge of the business affairs of a wealthy man, or work in the spice mines of Nal Hutta. And so on.

I always tell each one that I'll look after them, make sure that they're treated as well as valuable slaves can be. I will remind them that there is no hope for them, and that the Exchange has planted small trackers on them so that runaways can always be found. "If you're going to be a slave, why not be one who does something that she loves doing and is good at? And if you can do that for your indenture, why risk trying to escape? Because if you're caught, then you lose everything and who knows where you might be sold after that."

And it works, far more than I ever would expect it to. It even works on me. "You can use your unique talent and make the Exchange and some slaves happy," the Procurer had told me five years ago, his knife pinning in my right lekku to the table on which I was strapped. "Or we can continue this unpleasant exercise for another two days and then you can clean my toilet for the rest of your life."

The choice had been painfully easy, as my right side—including the dead lekku, damaged arm, misshapen ribs, and the shattered knee—will always attest. And every night, especially after I've presented the same choice I was given to a new slave, I wish that I had been strong enough to resist the Procurer and his torturers. And each time, I remind myself that if I hadn't given in, then slaves like Wisanu and Jahati would be serving in much more difficult circumstances, or more likely dead at the hands of some uncaring master frustrated with their refusal to bend.

It doesn't make me feel much better, but seeing Zeng, Wisanu, Jahati and all the other ladies helps me endure. It's the only thing that keeps me from becoming a foul monster like those I serve.

"This assassin is good," the Hutt continues, and once again I have to pull myself out of an unusual reverie, "very good."

I pretend to consider what he is saying for a few moments, but my decision can not change.

"No, but thank you."

The Procurer grunts in frustration, starts moving so that he ends up circling around me. I can see the calculations in his eyes.

"Then at least take some of the Gamorreans," he says finally, his eyes weighing heavily upon mine. "I know you don't like their stink, but their death squeals will alert you of any incoming threat."

"I would rather rely on the girls. The Gamorreans make the girls nervous and, frankly, tend to scare of all of our best paying customers."

"Then tell them to wait outside!"

"And if the assassin is inside?"

"Fine, then I'll find you a few more pretty guards to follow you."

"We've already assigned all the trained women who have that inclination. The only ones left need at least another year before they'll be effective. I'll be fine. If Wisanu and Jahati can't protect me, no one can."

The Procurer doesn't like it, but there's nothing that he can do. He had his chance to break me, and he mostly succeeded, but now others want me to stay alive to continue padding their pockets. No matter how powerful the Procurer is, there are those above him who would not like to see me hurt.

Which is something I've subtly encouraged.

After that, the Hutt and I talk about other business for a while, and then have our usual dinner together. By the time we're finished, midnight has passed.

Wisanu and Jahati join me as I leave the Procurer's vault, attaching themselves at my side like shadows on a sunny day. This time it's the Procurer's armoured air-speeder that takes us to my home. When we arrive at the small apartment, Wisanu checks it out before Jahati and I enter.

----------------------------

**Yuthura. A week later**

There is something about the blue, male Twi'lek and his bodyguards that disturbs me, but I can't put my finger on it. That's the problem with the Force. It gives clues, but usually so bare that they are hardly useful.

I have been tracking this "Gizka" and his bodyguards for nearly two days now, since I got their names from my last "informant." It had been an easy name to get; apparently this Gizka fellow was not well-liked among the men of the Exchange. After that, he had been easy to identify.

He's not quite as ugly as the informant said, but he certainly won't turn heads with his looks. A long scar begins halfway along his right lekku, which hangs limply around his neck, and extends down the length of right cheek. His clothes are a different matter: made of fine black silk, they cling tightly to his thin body. In his hand is another gaudy touch, an all-black cane with a silver handle. He uses it remarkably well, sometimes moving faster than I would have thought possible with the stiff right leg he drags behind him.

Finally, there are the bodyguards. Both are female and attractive, one an Echani and the other a Cathar.

_I could almost admire his panache. He certainly has a style about him. Too bad for him that he's built it on other people's suffering._

I stop at the next corner, and probe ahead with my Force. I've never been this careful before but, unfortunately, easy to identify does not mean easy to track. One of the women with him, a tall, white-haired Echani, keeps pausing, looking around, as if she senses me despite all the precautions I am taking. Since yesterday, I have been falling farther and farther back, trying to get beyond the range of her notice. Last night, I had left Jenti in my hideout. Somehow, this job feels too dangerous to bring my gizka companion along. Besides, somehow it didn't feel right to when I hunted one who bore the name of his kind.

_And then there's the fact that Jenti didn't complain when I left him this morning. Cannockshit, everything about this mission feels off!_

I yank my mind back to my task, reaching out once again to locate my prey. I'm so distant I can barely see them half the time. Luckily, my skills of Force sensing have grown much stronger in the year since I left Tatooine.

Gizka and his bodyguards stop at a cafe, and soon they are sipping on some kaffa that steams in deep blue mugs. They are all sitting together, in a place that's not easily visible from outside, protecting themselves against a shooter, I guess.

And yet, it's not smart how they've arranged themselves, not if they know they are being hunted. They must have some suspicions that someone is seeking Gizka. At the very least, one of them, probably the Echani, should be outside keeping an eye out.

_So why isn't he holed up somewhere, and why doesn't he have more guards? _Normally, such a lapse would lead to a quick death, but the last slaver I interrogated had warned me that this Twi'lek is far more clever than he looks.

I'm probe the area around them, trying to find hidden guards or other devices that might suggest that they are trying to set a trap. Ten minutes of searching yields no answers. From what I can tell, the others are normal inhabitants of this decadent moon.

Turning my attention back to the trio, I find that the Cathar is laughing at a joke the Twi'lek made. Under the table, her feet are rubbing up and down the leg of the Echani.

_The bodyguards are lovers_, I realize. _Does the Twi'lek know? _Surprisingly, his mind is very hard to read. I can only get surface impressions and emotions from him, but this time they are enough. There is just a slight feeling of benevolent satisfaction around him, so thin that I imagine he is hiding it from the two women.

_Yes, there is something very strange about them. They feel… nice._

And then, without thinking, I walk towards the restaurant, and approach their table. The two women notice me as soon as I enter, and I can see their hands dart towards their blasters. I put my hands up, trying to show that I mean no harm, but they draw their weapons anyway. I'm just about to dive under the nearby table when the light blue Twi'lek says, "Wait."

Their faces are full of doubt as I approach, but they obey their master. When I reach the table, the Cathar gets up and searches my body thoroughly, finding, to my surprise, each one of my seven knives before divesting my belt of my two blasters. Grinning like a cat who's about to play with a mouse, she gestures for me to sit.

But I'm not worried. I have more than enough power from the Force, should I choose to use it.

"I'm guessing you are the one that Wisanu sensed following us these past two days?" the Twi'lek says, his voice friendly, warm. "My boss thought you would take at least another week, but I was actually expecting you a little sooner," he finishes, wafting his hand casually in the air while flashing me a conspiratory grin.

Up close, his face remains unattractive. The scar is worse from this distance, its lines jagged, as if someone was seeking deliberately to ruin his looks. Gizka's nose was broken and poorly set at least once. His ears are a bit too large, his chin is pointy. The only thing that could be attractive are his eyes, which to my surprise seem to radiate the same kindness I heard in his voice. But there is a well of melancholy within them too, and the sharp glint of the clever at their corners.

I don't answer right away. The friendly expression, both on his face and in the Force, I don't know what to make of them. And then there are his clothes, the very opposite of my own loose and drab coverings. Around his throat, there is a green scarf of some soft material that wasn't there when he was walking. All of it seems to speak an artist or perhaps fashion designer with means. He doesn't look like the cold-blooded slaver that I've been tracking.

But appearances can be deceiving. I should know, for many on the chain of slavers that has led me here were lured by the promises of my body that my mind never intended to keep.

_Still, he does have good taste. I quite like the combination; it goes well with his colour. But all that means nothing if he's Exchange._

As if reading my mind, he rolls up his left sleeve, exposing a black and red tattoo on his arm, just above the wrist. It's an Exchange tattoo.

He's so casual about it, as if he is taunting me, and the anger comes quickly, irresistibly, filling me with strength and purpose. _Doesn't matter if you're kind and stylish, if you're still a slaver. _Slowly, nonchalantly, I begin pointing my fingers towards him and his guards under the table, even as he begins to speak again.

"Can you see it, under—" He pauses, then raises his hand, even as I start to channel my power. "Please don't—" he says, even as his guards start drawing their blasters again, but they're too late. Purple lightning flies from my hands and sends the three of them flying away from me, each in different directions.

In a panic, the patrons of the restaurant stampede out of the restaurant. I lose sight of the three slavers, and I worry that my prey will get away as I struggle not to be pulled out with the crowd. Cursing myself for being so impulsive, I finally extract myself and start to look for the Twi'lek.

The crowd thins out faster than I expect, and it separates, leaving a group that fill the back half of the cafe. These people, all women, are calm, interposing themselves, I realize, between the slaver and me.

I quickly scan the area around me. On either side of me, the bodyguards lie supine against the walls. They are, I sense, unconscious rather than dead, but they will likely not recover themselves in time to stop me.

"Get out of my way," I snarl, as I walk towards the women, but they just move closer together. Frustrated, conscious that the Twi'lek's allies might be on their way, I reach out with my Force and shove two of the woman back against the others. I don't push hard; I can sense that these women mean no harm.

A Zabrak woman, strong and tall, her eyes smoking and her lush body proudly displayed in a form-fitting, body-length white dress, catches the two I push. "No, we won't," she says, setting the women upright behind her.

I don't understand; this is a situation I have never planned for. My anger threatens to overwhelm me, the call to destroy these misguided fools is like a sickly sweet siren call pounding with the beat of my heart.

"You have no choice," I say, willing lightning to writhe around my hands.

"Ladies," a weak voice behind the crowd of women begins to say, then coughs. After a moment, he continues. "It's alright. Let her by."

"No," hisses the Zabrak woman, but the other women look at her a little uncertainly. I consider taking out the horned lady, to see if the rest will lose their will, but this Gizka seems intent on doing my work for me.

"My dearest—" His plea is cut short as he begins coughing again.

"Why do you want him, Sith?" asks the Zabrak woman. She is bold, fearless. Even the others, their legs trembling, do not move, despite my display of power. _Why? _

"The one you protect is a slaver," I say, "and justice has come for him."

My tactic doesn't work, however, their faces do not change. _They know_, I realize, even as the Zabrak raises her left hand and turns it so that her wrist is facing me.

"There are things here you do not understand."she says softly.

I feel my eyes widen, until I'm sure they must take up half my face, and yet I still can not believe what I see. I open my mouth, but there are no words to form. All that exists for me is the brand on the woman's wrist, on I see now the wrists of all the women that stand between me and my prey.

Perhaps we would have all stood there forever, but suddenly my Force senses scream at me to move. I duck, barely avoiding a blaster shot that shatters the glass behind me. After that, the air is filled with screaming as everyone ducks for cover.

"Abort, abort, code 887," shouts the Twi'lek male into the end of his green scarf, which I realize belatedly contains a comm. Gizka lapses into another coughing fit while I kick myself for not being more suspicious of the scarf.

"Gizka, you're still alive?" hisses a response.

"Yes, but not for much longer if you keep shooting!" A moment later, the firing stops.

_He must have set a trap for me after all_, I realize. _So where were the others hiding?_

"Has she got you?" the voices on the comm hisses again. My power is stretching outwards, and I can feel the many thugs who are streaming from the buildings nearby, and the ten men who have their rifles trained on the restaurant.

_The way the men are deployed, somehow I would have expected a better set up from this gizka Twi'lek._

My opponent, he hesitates, no doubt realizing that his trap has gone awry. His eyes search across the prone bodies on the floor. He is lying on his side five metres from me, his face and body burnt on his right side. He finds me, meets my eyes, even as the Zabrak woman stands up, crouched, looking ready to tackle me if needed.

_Such courage and yet wasted on the wrong person!_

I hear a cough to my right, and I see the Cathar bodyguard is conscious, her eyes and blaster sighted on me even as the other hand seems to search her body for injuries.

Gizka sees her movement, and his eyes seem to light up.

"Don't," he says to her, his voice so quiet I'm sure she won't hear. But I've forgotten what he has not: the ears of a Cathar can pluck the sound of a whisper in the middle of traffic. Her eyes glitter, her fingers twitch on the trigger, but after a moment she nods, though her blaster never leaves me.

Bringing the comm to his mouth, he speaks, "Yes, you fool. Why were you follow—" The Twi'lek cuts his words off abruptly, makes a choking sound as if I've just stopped him from speaking, all the while looking into my eyes with his own. I can hear him saying in his mind, over and over again: _don't move, play along, don't move, play along…_

I don't know what game he's playing, but I don't sense a threat and the Cathar is not trying to shoot me. I can't say the same for the forces that surround the cafe. Slowly, cautiously, a ring of them is closing in, while a second ring stays in place, a circle of raised blasters ready for a Sith who would try to jump out.

"Stop approaching, code 788" the Twi'lek croaks, somehow sounding exactly as if my hand was on this throat.

The voice on the other end swears, but soon the thugs stop their approach and I make a mental note that reversing numbers might work to counteract orders. "What does she want?" the voice asks after a moment.

"I don't know."

"Alright, Sith," the voice at the other ends starts to shout, "I know you can hear me. Tell us—" I don't hear the rest, for my prey somehow turns off the comm.

"Look," he says, his eyes still boring into mine. "I know we haven't gotten off to the best start," he continues, and to my surprise, he smiles, turning his scarred visage into something surprisingly attractive. I shake my head, trying to push away what must be an illusion.

"Listen," he says harshly, misunderstanding my reaction, "before you shake your head, or we'll all be dead within minutes. The guy who's out there now will never storm this place while he thinks I'm in danger. Right now, he's talking to my bosses and they're trying to decide whether I'm worth enough to let you go. And they'll quickly decide that killing you is more important. So you have to get out of here."

"Why do you care—" I start to say, my eyes narrowing and my Force probing at his mind, but he cuts me off.

"I could tell you the truth, but you wouldn't believe me. So, here's the deal. If you can get out of here in the next two minutes, we both get to live. You can sense the truth behind my words."

And I can, so I nod, even as I frantically try to decide whether it would be worth dying to kill this one. He's too smart to let free, too calm despite all that's happened. But there's also too many unanswered mysteries here, including why the slaves tried to protect him, and why they love him as I sense they do.

"Jahati," he says hurriedly, turning towards the Cathar, "you know the way! Take her now and then come back to me when you can."

"No, I won't leave you for this schutta!"

"Jahati, if you believe in me, take her now!" Jahati hesitates, and then she gestures me towards her with her blaster.

As Jahati pulls back a small panel along the base of the wall, the Twi'lek is whispering into an armband on his wrist, which must be a secret comm of some sort. "She's outside the building. I think she's headed for the roof. You won't be able to see her; she's got a stealth generator on!"

I can sense the commotion outside, feel the blasters being raised upwards. Even as I scrabble after Jahati into the small shaft that descends into the darkness, I hear blasters peppering the roof above.

It's strange following the Cathar along the twisting dark corridors. Somehow, the truce has fallen easily upon us. I will not kill or harm her, and I know she will let me go too. It takes ten minutes for us to reach the other end. Jahati gestures for me to ascend. I start up the ladder, but then I notice that the Cathar isn't following.

"It's an abandoned brothel," she says when she sees me look down. "There are some old robes in the cupboard nearby, so pull it over your head to hide those beautiful tattoos of yours. After that, exit by the door on our left and then walk as if you've just consumed some bad spice. After that, you're on your own."

Jahati turns, moves to leave, but I stop her with a question. "Why?" Bringing me was for her master, but this stuff about the robes and spice, that's extra.

I can sense her impatience; and I know she wants to get back to her master. But I don't know the reasons. Why do these slaves, for I can see the brand now on her wrist, care for this unattractive, unworthy slaver?

"Will anything I say stop you from coming after him again?"

"No," I say unthinkingly. There's more to say, but I don't know what it is yet. There's so much I don't understand. I want to say something more to Jahati, I want time to work through the confusion in my mind, but the Cathar won't wait, and likely doesn't see the uncertainty I've grown used to hiding.

"Then there's nothing more to say except that we'll be waiting." Turning her back on me, she dashes down the corridor.

I should ascend now, escape this area and plan my next actions. I need to find somewhere to think, to work out all that I've seen and heard. I need to plan how I'm going to catch this mysterious slaver. I need… I feel a need to talk with him.

_I can't let him go, he's my only ticket up the chain of command. And no matter how many of his slaves care for him, he's still a slaver and I will get the information I need out of him one way or another. _

I feel strangely uncertain, adrift and I wonder if it's just my old doubts re-emerging, the ones that held me back from my quest to attack slavery. And yet, when I look inside myself, the iron-bound purpose remains: I will not give up my hunt until slavery is ended or I am killed.

_So why am I even considering it letting this one slaver live? _

"What is your name?" Jahati's voice breaks into my thoughts, startling me. She has come back, though her body is already leaning back towards the cafe. "He will want to know."

I think about denying her, but only for a moment. Names are dangerous, but not now, not for me. There are none close to me that they could hurt and I have no reputation or future to protect.

"Yuthura."

"Yuthura," she repeats, then she surprises me by smiling. "He will like it." She hesitates for a moment again, and I wonder if she's going to ask me to free her, but she surprises me again. "You know, Gizka isn't what you think he is… nor is he what he believes himself to be." Before I can ask what she means, she's gone.

I enter the house above, and search for the robes the Cathar mentioned. Finding them, I pull one over me and make my way through the door nearby.

As I walk down the sunny street, I find myself shaping the Twi'lek's name on my tongue, even as my lips shape themselves into a small smile.

_Gizka. I'll be prepared next time and when I catch you, I'll find out who your boss is. And then… well, we'll see._

Somehow, I don't think this job is going to be easy.

----------------------------

**Gizka**

"There she is," I say, pointing at Jahati as she emerges from my formerly secret escape route. "Did you catch her?"

"She got away," Jahati says as she runs to my side to check the burn on my face and my other injuries. I wish I could tell her that I'm okay, or that Wisanu has already declared me "serviceable," but I know she will not listen.

"Did you see which way she went?" asks Slicer, the Procurer's enforcer. He's a tall human with red hair and a set of muscles that many women find attractive. He's never been able to win over Wisanu and Jahati, however, despite his best efforts.

_He never will either, for they only have each other in their sights, but I'll never tell him that. Those of us who are not desirable must have our petty vengeances to comfort us at night._

"No," Jahati says simply. Slicer waits for more, subtly shifting his body so that his muscles stand out, but Jahati never looks at him. Finally, Slicer gives up and moves off to give his soldiers orders. They will search the area thoroughly, and put out the words of the woman's description. I don't think they will find her, though. I know she won't be as careless next time as she was this day. Neither will I.

I suppose I should be looking forward to the challenge to come, but I don't. It's my talent to read people, and to help them discover the profession that fits true for them. But my talent has a fatal flow, one that I try to hide from others. When I meet and talk with someone, especially a woman, some part of me studies them, comes to know them in ways that only a loved one should. And so, even as I'm discovering the type of service that might best suit the slave, or other, I come to care about them.

And so, now I don't want this woman who is hunting me to be harmed.

I could say it's the opposites within her that draw me. The hard purpose and the fragility based on ancient and new pains. The beauty that she tries to hide in loose, ugly clothing. The deadliness that's as sharp as the edge of a Hutt-cut diamond and the gentleness underneath, as soft as the caress of a Tyrisian rose, yearning for the touch of affection.

But I would be lying. The answer is much simpler, and much more damning.

Reading a person as I do, though, usually takes time, more than I had for my pursuer. There is so much about her that I don't yet know. Despite that, I think I've discovered something else, beyond my talent. And the harder I try to suppress it, the stronger it becomes.

As if reading my thoughts, Jahati leans over and whispers one word into my ear. "Yuthura."

One magic word, and it seems to grow until it fills the core of me, until I have no choice but to face the two things I've always feared most, since the Exchange first offered this slave the choice he couldn't refuse.

_I think I could love her. Unfortunately, I also think I can use her._

The plan that unfolds in my mind, I hatched it as they burned the second tattoo into my arm. I have kept it inside me all these years, tucked away in the darkest corners of my soul. I have told no one about it; until now, I have always thought it hopeless.

_But now… oh gods, now through her I might finally be able to get revenge on the Exchange and more… _

Wisanu hands me my cane, which I'm relieved to see is undamaged, and then my two treasured friends help me walk towards the waiting air speeder.

_I've always known that my plan would have a high cost, for me and maybe my two best friends._ _The problem is that the price just got higher. Now the flimsy trust given to me by one mysteriously beautiful Sith lady is on the line. She's like an unexpected gift of the gods, because she's the only one person who can make my impossible plan work. And because she happens to make my ruined heart remember that it once sang._

_Still, since she'll never love me in return, risking her wrath should be a small price for setting things straight, right?_

_But am I willing to pay it?_

As I enter the air speeder, I realize to my sadness that I am.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4—Unpleasant Discoveries**

----------------------------

**A/N: Many thanks to Trillian for her beta. I made a lot of changes because of her insightful comments, and so all the existing errors are my fault alone ;)**

----------------------------

**Yuthura (Nar Shaddaa)  
**

Gizka and his bodyguards are too good. I stopped trying to follow them directly three weeks ago, after a couple of traps they laid almost caught me. Now, I stay far away from them, stalking them using my power only.

Today, I'm on the high rooftops of the moon, about two clicks away from the three of them. Every once in a while, when they move too far, I pick up my few belongings, including Jenti my gizka, and leap across a few alleyways until I find another hiding place close enough to continue my surveillance. Jenti seems to enjoy these moments, for it coos each time I leap, no matter how far the ground is below.

Gizka, Wisanu, and Jahati are moving through the market, checking out various vegetables and arguing over the artistic merit of a few Bith tapestries on sale. I'm just starting to think that it's an off day for them, when my prey stop and talk to two ladies outside an upscale store on the perimeter of the market. One is a tall human, who walks away a short distance after some initial pleasantries. She must be the owner, her pale white hair complemented by a blue dress expensive enough to purchase half a star freighter. The other, with whom Gizka talks longer, is a stout lady with flaming red hair and a smile that seems to ready burst from her face. Much of the conversation is dominated by free and easy laughter. Surprisingly, though I feel resentment from the red-haired slave, it is not directed at her aloof owner or Gizka.

Then Gizka moves on and the two ladies enter the store. I follow the owner and slave with my power for a moment longer, wanting to know what the red-haired slave in her captivity. After a few minutes, I have to laugh, for the woman is a natural negotiator, playfully peeling percentage points off the asking price of a red pair of shoes like a child dismembers an orange.

But even as I'm laughing, another part of me feels sick. Because no matter how much these women seem to like their jobs, it still comes down to the same problem. Their lives are not their own.

And I still don't know what to make of Gizka's role in all this. On the one hand, I could say that he's made it easier for them, helping ease the burdens of these women by getting them placed in professions they are suited for. And yet, no matter how soft or golden the chain around the women's neck, they remain slaves.

I should know, for I've worn many chains over the years.

Finding Gizka again is easy; a month's work of tracking him has made his presence in the Force very familiar to me. I could pick him out in any crowd now, no matter what the size.

Of course, that doesn't mean I understand him any better.

His network of slaves is impressive… and bewildering. They cover the usual set of slave jobs—prostitutes and dancers, gardeners and household help—but also many jobs that no slave I've ever known has been in. Yesterday, he visited two female Rodian slaves who were installing security systems for banks. The day before, it was a Bith woman who worked for a gem cutter shaping rare gems into elaborate shapes that sang when tapped.

What has he done that the rich trust slaves to be their bodyguards or to manage their fortunes?

I know that the Exchange place little finder chips in each slave, which they use to hunt down slaves that escape. I've detected at least one, and often more, of these tracking devices hidden in the women's bodies.

Those devices, and the horrific punishment meted out to slaves who are caught, are usually enough to stop most slaves from running. But there's always that one slave out of fifty who will make a break for it despite the odds, because they can't stand it anymore or because they're just the type that wasn't made to be a slave. Occasionally, those runaways get lucky, finding someone who can find and remove the chip.

I'm still amazed that those Jedi found me on that asteroid.

When Gizka sleeps, I've checked on many of the women Gizka visits. Like almost all slaves, they have little hope of ever paying off their debts. And yet, hand-in-hand with the usual despair and anger there is a surprising air of contentment within these women. Somehow, Gizka has done something to them to make them find enjoyment in their tasks, even as they yearn for their freedom. The result is that I never find one who's ready to run.

So does that make him good, or one of the most dangerous slavers alive?

The men I've talked with say that he uses drugs or some kind of hypnosis, but I've never sensed him using either during his visits. When I told some of the women that I could free them, they usually consider it for a few moments, but each and every woman always declines in the end.

I remember what Shep, one of the Zabrak women, said a week ago. "Do I want to be free? You're damn right I do. Sometimes, I feel like I could kill my owner in a second, and anyone else for that matter if they got in my way. Even poor Gizka. But here's the problem. To start, if they catch me, and they probably will, then it's on the sedation drugs and into spice mines. But let's look at the other possibility too," she continued, stretching her fingers out and counting off the next points.

"Maybe you do get me out of this place, remove all the tracking devices hidden in my body, and then somehow sneak me onto a space ship even though the entire planet will be looking for me. And then, maybe you even find me a place where I won't be recognized by all the Exchange thugs on all the different planets who might be looking for a high value slave like me. But by the time you've done all that, will I be able to find someone who will provide me with all the materials so that I can sculpt, without the Exchange finding me?" Shep gestured towards the beautiful statues and other sculptures filling the room. "They would find me as soon as my first piece hit the market. So, even if I did get free, which is very, very unlikely, I'd probably have to give up this incredible thing that Gizka helped me discover inside myself." The woman had looked me in the eye then, long and deep then.

"Look," Shep had said finally, "I can tell that you're one of the ones that got away. And I really respect the fact that you're back here helping us out. But Gizka's women aren't just any slaves. I was sold for one million. Have you met Zeng, who's a prostitute at the nearby, high-class brothel?"

"She was sold for one point five," she continued after I had nodded. "Zeng gets two or so thousand creds each time she services a client. If you consider that she usually has two customers per day, that means that her owner started making money off the deal in two years or so. For my owner, it took three. Now, do you think they're going to just let us go?"

"No, I suppose they would invest a lot keeping you around… So what does Gizka get out of it?"

The woman had looked startled, but her surprise had quickly turned into thoughtfulness. "I don't know," she had said finally. I had wanted to probe more, but Shep's boss had grown impatient.

Since then, I've wanted to follow up on that last question, to figure out what Gizka is getting for his services. I haven't been able to, though. The hunters looking for me are so numerous now, it's difficult for me to stay anywhere for too long.

_Speaking of which, it's time to stop daydreaming and start moving. _I can feel the Exchange thugs searching the area in their speeder, and I can't let them get close enough to spot me. If they figure out I'm using the rooftops, it won't take much longer for them to catch or kill me.

Grabbing, Jenti and my dirty, small bag, I run across the roof towards and leap onto the next roof ten meters away.

----------------------------

**Gizka**

"Gizka, when are you going to get us out of this mess?" Jahati asks quietly, as we sit in the market having Ukka stew. The meat of the small rodent is grey, and looks terribly unappetizing, but that only adds to the pleasant surprise of the its tangy taste.

"You mean the mess where we're being tracked by a Sith who wants to kill me? I—"

"Oh please, Jahati, Gizka doesn't know a thing. He's just a pimp, remember?" sneers Wisanu, her lips pressed against the lip of a steaming cup of Bith caffa. So stop asking him your stupid questions, okay?" I still don't know how the Echani can stand that bitter and thick blue brew.

Jahati waves her finger in Wisanu's face. "Don't tell me—" she starts to scold her lover, even as I'm shouting, "I'm not a pimp." As Jahati and I continue to berate the Echani, and she fires back curt retorts, I surreptitiously press the button for the noise scrambler hidden at the end of my dead lekku.

When I blink my eyes, Wisanu picks up the topic again, even as the three of us continue the motions our mock argument. "Don't think you can fool us, Gizka. We know you've got some plan hatching in your mind. Can we use her to get free?"

I want to sigh, but I'm too busy trying to keep my eyes angry and my face red. "I'm mulling some opportunities, yeah, but it's too dangerous to spill the beans."

"Just how dangerous?" screams Jahati, her teeth bared as she jabs her finger into my chest. She's so good at this exercise. It's probably because she enjoys getting to let loose her anger, even if it's only pretend.

"If we fail, your punishment would make being a prostitute in the seediest mining brothel seem like a leisurely holiday," I shout back at her, pointing my finger at Wisanu.

"Good," Wisanu screams, her fist slamming down on the table. The table leans, then overturns, spilling our food onto the ground. "It's about time you used your brain to help us out for a change."

_But you're wrong, Wisanu, I'm not plotting for your escape, or mine. I'm going for much more. I want to run the whole show. _

I want to correct Wisanu's assumption; I owe Jahati and her that, but I don't dare tell them about my objectives, even with the noise scrambler.

The other problem is, I haven't even found the right plan yet. And it's incredibly frustrating, because some part of me feels this plotting should be much easier for me. My instincts tell me that I know the secret and cunning deceits and ploys needed to make this work. But I can't find them in my mind. It's like there's a fog inside my thoughts, thick enough to hide what I need, thin enough to tease me with hope.

I should stop all this, but I can't. I won't. Somehow, though I don't remember why, Yuthura's entrance into the game has opened up an opportunity that I've been waiting for ever since the Procurer made this slave into an unwilling slaver. I just have to remember what that plan was.

_I hope the girls will forgive me when it's all done. And you too, Yuthura, wherever you are._

I turn my head away, my face as petulant as I can make it. It's the cue we use to indicate that the charade is over. I almost wish it was true.

----------------------------

**Yuthura (two days later)**

Gizka is going into one of the bars where his girls work. I know that he will be in there for a while, so I release the Force probes through which I've been tracking him.

I sometimes wonder what would happen if Gizka was no longer here on Nar Shaddaa, taking care of his "girls." Would they still accept their fate? Because if they wouldn't, and some part of me believed that was the case, then removing Gizka would reduce the value of these women, including the new ones Gizka identified every week, substantially. Enough, I guessed to make a significant dent in the Exchange's local income.

Sometimes, I wonder if I should just kill him and leave for a few years, until the heat dies down a little.

A part of me really wants to take him out. The thought that a slaver might have made my servitude bearable is… unbearable. But every time that I start to plan it, another part of me shies away.

I can't stand that I'm so confused about what to do with him. It almost makes me miss my time as a Sith, when all I had to do was hate, and occasionally fear, those around me.

Power, as the Jedi masters said during my year at the Corsucant Jedi Temple, flows effortlessly, but the concentration to use it does not. Unless, of course, I allow passion to guide its use. That's effortless, but then it's the dark side of the Force that guides what I do, not myself. I've seen too well the trap that "power" is.

Still, using it as much as I've been doing has improved my control remarkably, even as it exhausts me.

Maybe that's why I'm so confused.

I begin to stroke Jenti, who's asleep in my lap, letting my mind wander over the many half-baked plans I have in my head for capturing my prey. None of them stands out yet. I need one that combines simplicity and subtlety, for there is no other way that I will be able to capture the clever slaver I hunt.

I can't wait to finally catch him, and get him to tell me where his boss is. Then I'm going to tuck him away somewhere, until I wipe out the rest of the power structure. And when it's all over, I'll let him go and see what he does. That will tell me where his heart lies, and what his fate will be.

It will take some more work to plot out all the details, a lot more. I don't mind, though. Patience comes easier to me now. My time on Tatooine and this past month of silent tracking and hiding have taught me to still my body and its urges when needed, so that the Force and my mind can do the work. I can be as unmoving as the rock cliffs under Bastila's home, and as ephemeral as the winds that wail between the tall buildings of Nar Shaddaa, then disappear as quickly as a thought.

Still, I won't deny how much I look forward to seeing Gizka's face when he finally lies under my power. I'm no Jedi, just a Sith who has learned patience.

Jenti coos as he wakes up under my touch, and I recognize the hunger in his soft purring. I pull out several of the vegetables I have scavenged from some of the rooftop gardens that are surprisingly frequent in this urban monstrosity on the Hutt moon. As the gizka digs into the red shoots, I munch on a nutrient bar, the last ones in my bag.

I've been giving Jenti all the vegetables I have, and I never have enough time to buy good food. The result is that my body is slowly growing thinner again, though not nearly as badly as it was on Korriban before Bastila rescued me. Part of me feels pleased to see the voluptuousness that led others to prey on me disappear. And yet, to my surprise, I also mourn its slow passing.

I try not to think about it too much, but I'm not always successful.

This last month hasn't been easy. The Exchange's thugs are still searching for me everywhere, and I spend almost all my time moving from one rooftop to another. Even so, I've almost been discovered three times; only the warnings of the Force have allowed me to kill the rooftop watchers before they alerted others of my whereabouts. Soon, someone's going to figure out a pattern to the missing people. Perhaps the only reason they haven't yet is that I've made sure to be seen on the streets from time to time. The chases that follow each venture get more and more difficult to win. They are adapting to my strategies faster than I can invent them.

I will have to catch Gizka soon.

----------------------------

**Gizka. A week later**

"I wonder where she is," I ask the girls, as I do every morning.

Jahati shakes her head and Wisanu ignores my question entirely. They had tried answering it before, engaging in long discussions at night about how we might capture "Gizka's Sith." And they tell me off each time I warn them that the traps can't be lethal. I'm pretty sure they aren't serious though, because there is pity in the glances they throw me when they think I'm not looking.

For the past month, the Exchange has had its best bounty hunters and assassins looking for Yuthura, and yet they have not found her. The Procurer has already demoted three of his lieutenants for incompetence, and has beaten several others into unconsciousness. The reward for the Twi'lek dark Jedi is now enough to free ten slaves or fill an entire house with new ones—an unheard of amount. It seems that everyone is looking for the one preying on me, and yet she continues to elude them.

Every time I hear a report of her sighting, I have to struggle to make myself appear only mildly interested even as my heart threatens to burst from its cage.

The other good news is that I haven't had to visit the Procurer for three months now. He doesn't want me to lead her to him. That's fine by me. The Procurer is very good at reading faces. The next time I see him, he'll be a corpse or, more likely, I will.

Still, it's hard to think too much about killing the Procurer when I'm being followed by a whole crew of his paid assassins. The Rodian team was hired by the Procurer about two weeks ago. Yuthura is really making a dent in the Exchange's profits now.

I keep wondering what keeps the beautiful Sith lady here, even as I'm thankful for her continued presence. There are a hundred other planets with Exchange and slaving operations almost as big as Nar Shaddaa, and those are likely far less prepared to defend themselves against a powerful and clever opponent. So why not move on, and then come back here in three or four years?

"We're here," says Jahati, breaking into my reverie.

Looking at my chronometer, I see we're a few minutes early. "They're not open yet—" I start to say, but then Wisanu touches my arm, nodding her head towards the door. The door to the club is slightly ajar. "The _Slippery Slope_ never opens its doors this early," I continue.

I make a hand signal to Jahati and Wisanu, and they quickly move towards the sides of the building, while I wait at the front, counting off two minutes. It's a tactic we made a long time ago, one of many that we designed and tested plans for each one of the Exchange buildings where my ladies work.

The blaster feels light in my left hand as I lean my cane beside the door. Resting against the wall, I feel a strange sense of peace steal over me, even as my wasted body seems to come alive, to fill with an energy it shouldn't be able to possess. Finally, after what seems forever, the chronometer vibrates and I approach the entrance as quietly as I can. Crouching down, I take a deep breath, and then dart my head around the doorsill, taking a quick glance before ducking out of sight again.

I see no one, though there are plenty of places where an experienced assassin could be hiding. Another glance a few seconds later, this time at full height, reveals nothing more. I wait a minute, my ears burning as they listen for the movement of someone impatient for my entrance. Still nothing. I take another deep breath, and then scoot around the corner as fast as I can, kneeling behind the table closest to the door.

_Where are the girls? _It's still early in the day for them, but there's usually one of them downstairs sorting out the drinks or just hanging around. Typically, there's laughter coming from the upstairs rooms, or at least the hard whispers of gossip or the angry shouts of a skirmish between the ladies over those small things that plague those who live together every day of the week.

But it's silent, and the fear begins to settle in again, a cold heavy feeling in my gut.

I reach the stairs next, looking up just in time to see the slinking form of Jahati pass by the top of them. She's moving as quietly as a Maalraas, and even my sharp hearing can't pick up the sounds of her movement.

The plan calls for me to secure the bottom floor, leaving the upper ones to the better skills of Wisanu and Jahati, but I find it difficult to wait. Something bad has happened, I can feel it in the sudden aches in my knee and elbow. I want to go up, but I don't dare. My limp makes me too loud, and I will not endanger Wisanu and Jahati by getting too near to them.

It seems like forever has past and gone by the time Jahati and Wisanu come down the staircase, their faces long, their blasters holstered. "They're all dead," Jahati says without preamble. Except for Zeng. I can't find her body anywhere."

"How many?" I ask, though I know the answer already.

"Fifteen," breathes Wisanu, her voice weak, without substance, as if all the life that usually fills it has been stolen. "They even killed Hulia."

Hulia is—was—the six year old daughter of Fiena, a Cathar who works in the house. Red and gold fur, merry eyes, squealing laughter, a ready smile_…How could such a lively delight suddenly be__gone?_

All of a sudden, all my grand, fruitless plotting seems trivial. Forget taking over. All I want to do now is be angry, to destroy furniture, to shout and scream, and finally, to bathe my hands in the warm entrails of whoever did slaughter.

But hot anger escapes me; it always does. Instead, I feel myself grow cold. I put aside the images of Fiena and the others that are clamouring for my attention. It's as if time stops, as if everything stops: the beating of my heart, the in and out of my breath, the blinking of my eyes. Nothing will move in me, no part of me will distract me from the price I will exact from those who did this to my girls.

"Evidence," I say, the words hard, sharp like stone hitting stone. _Let there be something I can use._

"One dead Gamorrean. Don't recognize him." Wisanu starts, lifting a blaster for my inspection. "His weapon looks like an Exchange blaster, but it's too new, too nice to be in the hands of one of those pigs. Nothing else that I can see."

I look over at Jahati, but she shakes her head.

"So, someone's trying to frame the Exchange?"

Wisanu considers the idea for a moment as she turns the blaster over to inspect it. She always thinks better when she's handling a weapon. "Looks like it. One thing, though. It was a bit too easy to figure out. Anyone with some brains would spot this blaster as a plant right away."

"Not everyone is as good as you are, Wisanu."

"True," she says, flashing a brief hard grin that doesn't come close to reaching her freezing eyes, "but there are certainly others in the Exchange who would figure this one out."

"Also, true. Okay, so let's consider two options. One, someone is doing a poor job of framing the Exchange. Two… Hmm, I don't know. Why would someone make it obvious that they're trying to frame our employers?"

"That's a tough one," Wisanu says, her brows furrowing. After a moment, she shrugs her shoulders. "Maybe if we think of possible suspects, the answer might come."

"Okay. Let's start with the obvious. Hutts?"

"Possible. That might explain the sloppiness of the frame job too. There's a few who get real sloppy when they get pissed off about something. But most of them would be too smart. How about our Sith friend?"

I open my mouth, ready to say it couldn't be Yuthura, even as another part of me starts to wonder. _She is, after all, a Sith…_

"Not her style," Jahati says, interrupting my disturbing ponderings.

"How do you know?" Wisanu asks, her brows furrowed in surprise. Jahati normally leaves the analysis of a scene to Wisanu and I.

"Just do." Jahati doesn't like explaining her observations. Luckily, when she does interject her opinion, she's usually right.

Wisanu seems to struggle for a moment, but then she shrugs her shoulders, looking back at me.

"Rival gangs?" I ask.

"I think our organization has been too successful there. None of them have the resources or the brains to pull this off."

"How about someone in our own organization?"

"If that's even a remote possibility, Gizka," Jahati says forcefully, "we need to hand this over to the Procurer's men right now."

She's right. The most dangerous possibility is that someone is using this slaughter to get at the Procurer, or the two above him. If that's the case, then we're be placed as pawns in a game where neither side would blink before discarding us.

But I'm not feeling wise right now. We're all acting very calm, but I know that we're all ready to explode. Wisanu's knuckles burn white in her clenched hands, and Jahati is tracing lines on her blade with one extended claw.

"Whoever did this will regret it," I say and Wisanu and Jahati nod. "Before we do anything else, I need to call this in to the Procurer and you two need to check on all the other girls. Wisanu, you get the bars in the Refugee sector, Jahati, you take the rest."

Fifteen minutes have passed by the time we're done. Jahati breathes a sigh of relief as she reports that the last group, the girls at the Liantel Bar are safe and that the new guards have arrived, courtesy of my call to the Procurer.

"That leaves Zeng, and the others upstairs," I say, my voice hard and cold. Jahati flinches, the relief gone in a flash. "The Procurer's men will be here in about five minutes. I need to look around before those cannocks start messing everything up."

Normally I leave the scene evaluation to Wisanu. She's much better at it than I am, but there are occasions when I see something that she doesn't. Sometimes, my instincts see things that her more logical mind misses. This turns out to be one of those cases.

"This was done by Rodians," I say, almost shouting to make my voice heard over the loud noise of the Procurer's thugs arriving downstairs. I point towards the far wall, looking at a blaster burn there. "See these variations in the thickness of the burn. Whoever's shot this was had a Rodian silencer on his blaster. They don't sell those."

"Yeah, but someone could have taken one. And it doesn't smell like Rodians," Jahati says, wandering around the room. "Or anything else for that matter," she continues, her brow furrowing.

Looking around the room, I see that the windows are all closed. "Could the smells have dissipated in this time all by themselves?" I ask, pointing to the closed windows.

"Not so much that I wouldn't smell them."

"Then I think I know who we're dealing with," I say. "Henada, the Hutt with the most sensitive nose ever."

"Frack," Jahati swears vehemently, "that's not going to be easy."

"We should let the Exchange deal with it," Wisanu says, but her voice lacks conviction."

"Yes, we should," I respond, "but you know what they'll do: charge in shooting. And then we'll never know whether Henada's really behind all this, or if someone else is setting this whole thing up."

"There are way to many of them for us to handle by ourselves," Wisanu says looking at her lover, but Jahati's grinning like a cat that's just found a mouse to play with. Sighing, Wisanu turns towards me, her face already settling into fatalistic acceptance.

"Okay then, we better get moving," I say, raising my voice as the first Exchange thugs enter the rooms downstairs. "Try to think of some ideas about how to get into Henada's fortress on the way."

----------------------------

**Yuthura**

I still can't understand how a man who cares so much for his girls can be a pimp. But I'm going to find out. Today. My plan's all set. I've even got a few of his girls involved. They think we're giving him a surprise party.

I feel a bit guilty about using my power on those woman, though not on their owners. Still, the cause is just.

I've also got my disguise, constructed from several excruciatingly planned thefts. The first target had been a movie studio, from which I got the special blue makeup thick enough to change my coloring and cover my tattoos for a few hours. Then, there were the clothes I stole from the woman I'm going to imitate. I had to work my way through a crowded brothel to get the tight, blue diaphanous dress I've got in my bag now.

Luckily, I didn't kill anyone at the brothel. I had sure felt like it though, especially when I sensed the old bastard pawing the squirming young girl in the last room. It had taken every ounce of my willpower, and then some, to content myself with a more subtle approach.

Once I got control of my temper, I planted a few ideas into the heads of the old man and the brothel owner. The next morning, the girl started working in the kitchens and in a few years she'll be set free, courtesy of some studious saving by her owner and last client.

The whole thing was much more tiring than just killing the two men, but I find it curiously satisfying nonetheless. Still, I'm glad that I don't have much else to do today, so I'm lying on my bedroll under some laundry, resting until the big event this evening. The only reason why I'm tracking Gizka is habit. Or so I tell myself.

I've become used to the rhythm of Gizka's emotions. The quiet worrying he does as he moves from location to location, the happiness when he sees each of his girls is alright. And when they are not, the guilt that fills him until he finds what they need: more blankets for cold quarters, medicine and a few nights rest away from the "grind" for a girl who is sick, a bodyguard who will "encourage" a certain man to visit another brothel.

I've never felt the Twi'lek get angry, though, and I still don't understand it. How can he care about these women and not get furious about their fate?

_It's time to end this cannock shit and get back to the business of hunting and killing Exchange slime._

I'm about to pull back my probe and take a short nap when I sense Gizka's sudden fear. It's much higher than anything I've felt from him before, and without thinking I start preparing myself to go investigate. Just as I finish strapping on my lightsabre, I feel my prey step past hot anger into that cold, hyper-rational space of pure fury that I know too well.

He's never angry. I start running. I have to go see what is making him react so strongly.

Gizka has left by the time I arrive at the _Slippery Slope_, but the place is crawling with Exchange thugs, too many for me to figure out a way in. But it only takes a moment for me to realize what has happened, because the Gamorreans are carrying body bag after body bag out of the brothel. And many of those bodies are too small to be thugs.

The rage I feel feeds my power, even as I break into the minds of the distant Gamorreans. The images there of the dead women—Twi'lek, human, and so many others—only pushes me farther. I can taste Tatooine sand on my tongue, feel the howling of its sandstorms in my ears, can feel its merciless, clean fury.

I guess the hiding assassins knew me well enough to know that I would approach this site, for suddenly I sense blaster shots descending towards my body. Unfortunately for the four humans and one Rodian, I've practiced Hi'u, the ancient Sith technique for quickly drawing and striking with my lightsabre.

Even then, I'm almost not fast enough. My purple blade blocks two of the shots, and I dodge another, but two bolts slam into my shoulder and leg. The pain is incredible, but it only adds to my focus. I can't move quickly now, but my blade blurs in the light as it blocks shot after shot, even as I push my senses outwards, feeling towards my captors.

They've thought out their plan well, choosing locations far from me before springing their traps, but they don't know the power that fury gives me. As soon as I touch one, I _pull_ him towards me from two rooftops away and he lands screaming at my feet, his bones cracking under the impact. As he lies whimpering, I pull at his life force, drawing the energy into me even as I continue defending myself until my body is almost healed and he lies dead at my feet.

I could pull more from him, rob him of his soul, but even now, as lost as I am, there are some evils that I will never do.

I think the remaining assassins sense their pending doom, for the shots start to lose accuracy as they increase in pace. With the pain no longer distracting me, I can sense them all now, and I jump towards the Rodian shooter, skipping off several rooftops like stones in a stream.

He's already turning when my lightsabre cuts his body in two, and I can feel the others turning, preparing to run from their respective locations. But I won't let them get away. I drop my lightsabre and call the Rodian's blaster rifle to my hand. I've been practicing shooting using the Force since I first arrived here on Nar Shaddaa and now it pays off. Three quick shots later, all of the assassins are dead.

_That should make the others hesitate next time someone wants them to hunt me._

I can hear shouts from the streets below, and the stampede of thugs moving towards my building. The blaster rifle is a good one, so I strap it over my shoulder before calling my lightsabre back into my hand. I quickly search the body at my feet, looking for any interesting information. The only thing that looks remotely interesting is a small piece of folded paper that I quickly tuck into my pocket.

Shoving my lightsabre into my belt, I start to run towards the next roof, thanking the Force that they didn't think to bring speeders to the scene.

Later, when I finally lose my pursuers, I pull out the paper. On it is a map of the scene and two lines of text. As I read the words, my heart grows cold and incandescent at the same time. _Once the deed is done, the Sith will come to investigate. Hide on the rooftops and shoot to kill. G_

By the time I can think again, I've got so much power in me that finding Gizka takes only a few moments, despite the fact that he's far away. Once I locate him, I set off at a rapid pace.

I'm not sure how I'm going to get to him in the middle of that Hutt's fortress, but I'll worry about the details later. Hutts have a way of igniting the rage within me, so I figure I'll have plenty of power to spare for everyone and anyone who gets in my way.

_No more subtle plans. Time to get back to what I'm good at, killing._

----------------------------

**Gizka**

Of course, saying we're going to enter Henada's fortress and extract information from him, maybe even kill him, that's easier to say than actually do.

The three of us are walking casually by the house-cum-fortress of Henada the Hutt, taking our time and scouting out the place while talking quietly about what we had seen in the _Slippery Slope_.

We have no illusions that we're unnoticed. Henada isn't the brightest of the Hutt bulbs but he has one of the best security systems around, including the head of his security, a Twi'lek named Gand. Henada is not going to be an easy target.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Jahati asks under her breath, and I have to stop myself from reacting.

"We're still alive, aren't we?" I say as calmly as I can. "I'm sure they already know who we are and that we're checking out the place. Perhaps they are talking even about killing us right now to…keep things simple. But they can't because we're Exchange—" Wisanu raises her eyebrow and I can't help the sheepish grin that follows. "Okay, at least I'm fairly sure he won't kill us. Certainly not out here where people can see."

"Because Henada won't condone anything that threatens his truce with the Exchange, and the Exchange would never tolerate the public killing of one of its key members," Wisanu chips in, her eyes constantly searching the area.

"Besides, this may be the only way to save Zeng," I add. "If our thugs just show up and start shooting, they'll kill her."

"I know all that," Jahati says, her voice impatient. "But this all assumes that Henada will act rationally. What happened at the _Slippery Slope_ may not have been rational business."

"Good point," I say, though I'm more worried about the possibility that Henada is acting rationally. Because if that's the case, that means he has a plan.

Suddenly, I want to walk away, to think this through more thoroughly, but it's too late. Before I can voice my idea, forty or so Gamorrean and Rodian thugs pour out from the nearby building to surround us with their weapons raised. Five minutes later, minus all of our blasters, belts, and anything else that could be a weapon, we are escorted in front of Henada.

The room is circular, with only one visible door, the one through which I just entered. The air is moist and warm, like a bog except without any scent whatsoever. All around the room are eleven armed Rodians standing quietly, only their ear stalks moving as they stare at the girls and me. Beside the Hutt is a large, red-skinned Twi'lek, who must be Henada's head of security, Gand.

Henada is the archetype that the relatively skinny Procurer failed to meet. His frame must be close to one thousand kilograms, his head is the classic triangular shape and his greyish body oozes enough sweat to create a pool where he sits.

Gand, on the other hand, is bigger and much more intimidating than I or any other Twi'lek male. He stands scowling at the Hutt's right side, wearing a full set of black, Echani armour and painting my heart red as we enter with the tracking sight of his trademark modified Mandalorian Mark X repeating blaster rifle. But what scares me the most are his eyes. For some reason, it's impossible to tell their colour. However, the menace in them is impossible to miss; I know he will fire at us as soon as I give him the flimsiest of excuses.

"Why were you skulking outside my home?" Henada rumbles as we are placed in front of his corpulent frame.

"Waiting for you to invite us in," I say, keeping my voice light despite the pounding of my heart. We could die easily here, for I have no plans to get us out should Gand's troops start shooting. "I probably should have called in out troops directly, but I wanted to make sure that my hunch was right before you all got slaughtered."

"What do you mean?" asks Henada. "I'm not afraid of the Exchange. You wouldn't dare attack us and break the truce!" He sounds fierce, but the sweat leaving forehead changes suddenly from a trickle of drops to a slow stream

That's the one advantage about being perceived as soft. The few times I do make a threat, people tend to listen because it's so unexpected. "You should have thought of that before you killed all the girls at the _Slippery Slope_."

"What do you—" Henada starts to repeat himself, before he stops and clears his throat. "I have done no such thing," he continues, his eyes narrowing to thin, yet still enormous slits. "What are you up to, Gizka? This is way out of your league, little pimp."

I flinch unthinkingly. I hate being called that, even after all these years. "The problem you have, Henada, is that you don't like the smell of Rodian. So you insist that they be cleaned and take that chemical deodorizer… um…"

"Moonflower," says Jahati.

"Thanks," I say, keeping my eyes on the Hutt. "Moonflower. So, you see I have a crime scene with evidence of a Rodian silencer and yet absolutely none of their smell, well that could only be your troops."

Henada's face freezes for a moment, and then he points his hand towards Gand, bellowing, "You—"

I had always thought that Henada had a good grip on his men, but the next moment shows me wrong. Gand dives to one side, pushing a button on his wristband even as the Rodians around the room open fire on the Hutt, splattering blaster bolts all around his body as Wisanu, Jahati and I dive to the ground.

Henada roars, then lurches towards the two nearest Rodians. The thick blubber of the Hutt's body absorbs shot after shot as Henada cracks the necks of his assailants. I hear some pounding on the door to the chamber. The sound quickly stops, however, as the sound of blasters firing grows louder in the corridor outside. Thirty seconds and three more dead Rodians later, the Hutt finally succumbs to the weight of injuries, his body a tattered mess as it slumps to the ground. Outside, the shooting has stopped as well.

"I've made a bloody mess of this," I whisper to my girls.

Neither answer, and I hear the sound of casually approaching footsteps. "Thanks, Gizka," Gand drawls, putting one knee on the ground near my face. "I told all the boys that Henada had done something stupid, but they wouldn't believe me until you "confirmed" it just now. It's a shame," his voice mocking me more and more as he continues, "you were shot accidentally in the shootout."

"You bastard—" I start to shout, but then the doors whip open and two Aqualish fly into the room, their bodies sizzling as they slide past Gand and us towards the back of the room.

Everyone freezes, our gazes drawn irresistibly to the shapely figure who steps through the opened doors. My heart skips and my breath stops in my throat as I recognize the new combatant.

Purple power hisses in Yuthura's hands, her right filled by a straight and deadly lightsabre and her left with writhing tendrils of hissing lightning. Droplets of blood dot her ragged clothes, face, and lekku, and streams of crimson run from three blaster wounds on her right side. Her eyes seem to almost burst with wild fire as she pins me with her eyes, the hatred within them so palpable that I wonder why I don't instantly catch fire.

_She's found out about my plan._

Yuthura opens her mouth, to curse me I expect, but then Gand shouts, "Kill them all," and all hell breaks loose.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5—Love Sucks**

----------------------------

**A/N: Many thanks to Trillian for her beta. I made a lot of changes because of her insightful comments, and so all the existing errors are my fault alone ;) **

----------------------------

**Yuthura (Nar Shaddaa)  
**

The sad look in Gizka's eyes seem genuine, but I'm not fooled by them anymore. As badly as I want to fry the treacherous Twi'lek, though, my survival instincts take over when Gand shouts, "Kill them all." As the thugs raise their weapons towards me, I push the power in my left hand forward towards the Twi'lek leader standing over Gizka and three of his soldiers behind. The four of them fly backwards screaming as my power burns into them, only stopping when they crash into the far wall.

The remaining four Rodians are braver than I expect, much more than their dead slaver counterparts who fled as I carved my path through their peers to get here. Carefully, and with practiced coordination, they start shooting at me. I've already expended all my energy shields, and the shots are coming so fast that all I can do to block the shots. Behind me, I can hear the soft footsteps of other slavers who have begun to regain their bravery and are trying to sneak up behind me.

If nothing changes, I'll be dead in a few minutes.

Focused on getting past my guard, the Rodians in the room don't notice the crawling figures of Gizka, Wisanu, and Jahati. I expect my prey to head towards the dropped weapons at the back of the room, but they sneak up on three of my assailants instead. Twenty second later, just about the time when I think my arm will fall off from fatigue, three Rodians are pulled down to the ground.

The other shooter hesitates for a moment, just enough for me to send a fist of power into his torso. As he slumps to the ground, I leap forward and cut through his head. As I turn towards the others, I see that Wisanu and Jahati have already killed their prey, and are moving towards Gizka, who is still struggling with his Rodian. Before his bodyguards can arrive, I crush the throat of the Twi'lek's opponent with a flick of my power.

The quiet that descends in the room makes my panting sound as loud as thunder. My right side aches worse than my first days as a Sith apprentice and all I want to do is rest for a week, but I can sense the carefully approaching figures of the Hutt's remaining thugs.

The faces of Wisanu and Jahati are wary as I turn towards them, but Gizka's tentatively smiles at me as if he hadn't just set me up to be killed.

"No, slaver, you won't fool me again with that innocent smile," I hiss. Wisanu and Jahati freeze for a moment, and then Wisanu dives for the rifles a few metres away while Jahati interposes herself between Gizka and me.

_How can someone so treacherous gain such loyalty from his slaves?_ "Misguided fools, your faithfulness is wasted on this one." Thrusting the Force into the minds of the three, I push them into unconsciousness. _Now all I have to do is figure out how to get out of here. _

The problem is that I don't have a plan, though. I had been too mad, and had rushed in here rather than take my time to formulate an approach and escape. Now I have no time to do anything but improvise. I'm better at planning.

The number of soldiers approaching the door is growing, and soon they'll gather their courage for a charge. I can't take them all on. Reaching out with my power, I close the doors and then engage the locking mechanism. Knowing Hutts as I do, I expect the only two people who can open the door are right here in this room.

_Unless, of course, they have another Force user out there._ My senses reveal no other Jedi or Sith, though I am so weak it is hard to tell.

As I retract my power, my head swirls and then I'm tumbling limply to the ground, only barely having the sense to turn off my lightsabre before I hit. _I've used too much of my strength too fast._

Black spots fill my eyes as I fumble through the pouch on my belt. I can barely hold onto the needle I find as I draw it out, and aim it towards my leg. Taking a deep breath, I plunge the stimulant into my thigh.

The surge of energy that fills me from the serum is almost too much, and it takes me long precious moments to gather my spiralling thoughts. My breath comes fast and hard as I struggle to separate vision from sound, even as one of them warns me that one of the people in the room is moving.

Gizka has a blaster trained on my head by the time I recover, and my lightsabre is tucked into his belt.

"I could ha---" he starts to say, but with a flick of my power I rip the blaster out of his hand. His eyes and mouth are open and wide as his hand instinctively reaches towards my blade in his belt, but then he stops, and slowly raises his hands even as I train the blaster on him.

He sighs when I remove my lightsabre from his belt. "As I was saying, 'I could have killed you while—" Whatever he was going to say is silenced by a slap from my hand across his mouth.

"It's time, Gizka," I say, twirling my ignited blade, "that we finally had an honest talk."

The Twi'lek's eyes grow round, but strangely there is little fear in them. _But I will change that soon_.

"We haven't had much time to chat at all, Yuthura," he says, rubbing his jaw, "which I regret immensely. It does seem," his eyes turn towards the door, and the pounding of the Hutt's troops on it, "that anytime we get together there's someone trying to break in." His voice sounds calm, but then his brows furrow, as if he is puzzled by something.

I sense it too; it's as if something is blooming within him, some other aspect of his being that is emerging from the shadows.

"You can feel it too, can't you?" Gizka says, and I realize that I'm staring at him, my eye ridges furrowed. "What's going on…?" His eyes are confused, and yet there is a growing sense of calculation within him, a sharpness that I have never sensed before within him.

"How did you learn to hide from the Force?" I ask, trapping his arms against his body with my power. He tests my grip for a brief moment, calmly as if I haven't put him at my mercy.

"How wonderful it must be to have such power," he said softly.

"Stop your cannockshit, slaver!" I yell. "You've taken away the choices of too many to say that!" Gizka opens his mouth to say something, but I whip the tip my blade under his chin, and he stops. "There are only two things I want to hear from you before you die, you puffed up pimp. One, how do I get at your bosses and, two, how do I undo the brainwashing you've placed on all the women? If you say anything that does not directly answer these two questions, I'm going to make dying seem like a vacation." To emphasize my point, I lift my blade a breath, searing a small scar into the Twi'lek before he jerks backwards. "And don't lie. I'm very good at sensing deception."

"The answer to the second question is easy," he says in a voice without inflection, his eyes never leaving mine. "They're not brainwashed. It's just a combination of the right negative and positive incentives. The Exchange provides all the tracking devices and fear of punishment, and I show them how they can make the best of their time by doing what they most like."

"No one wants to be a prostitute!" I snarl, infuriated also that he remains calm when I feel like such a wreck. _Ignore this!_ My blade darts out, cutting off the tip of one of his lekku.

He cries out, and his arms jerk in my power's grip. "Of course not," he gasps after a moment, "but there are a few women—especially us naturally submissive Twi'lek or the domineering Zabrak—who can find pleasure in the act of seducing and pleasing strangers. And who are greatly skilled at it."

"But—"

"Why do people believe all the stories where, say, a women spy or assassin can enjoy seducing their target, but not—"

"Because those women can choose!" I shout, lifting my weapon. Gizka flinches, but he continues on.

"Exactly, and that's what I try to provide… or at least as much as possible. As long as they bring in a certain amount per month, they can choose their partners." Gizka shrugs his shoulders, then continues. "Reaching that target is usually not a problem for the ones I identify. And I try my best to take away the other bad aspects of prostitution: unsafe workplace, social contempt, and so on. Though as I'm sure you're about to say, there's only so much that I can do there."

"To say the least," I snort. "I don't believe you," I say, but I'm beginning to doubt against my will. I've been searching every word he utters for the lie I know must be in there, but he believes he's speaking the truth. "What about all the other women whom you don't select—the ones who end up in the brothels anyway."

I can feel walls rise up in him, feel emotions pushed into dark corners before they can even form. "I've never been able to do anything about them. They don't fall under my jurisdiction."

He's telling the truth, and yet not. There's something else underneath and I latch onto it. _Finally, I'm getting behind the act. _"You're lying," I say, my words flat and hard.

Gizka hesitates, and I can feel a battle being waged inside, though the content of it eludes me. Finally, the Twi'lek sighs, and I can feel the decision being made within. "It was true until you came into my life."

"Listen carefully, Gizka. I'm very good at sensing what's going on within people. It is one of the aspects of my power in which I excel. So here's what I want you to do. Answer each of my questions as soon as I ask them. No thinking, no clever words or evasions, just straight answers given right away. Got it?" I ask, bringing the point of my lightsabre close to his left eye.

"Got it," he says, and his eyes sparkle grimly for a moment. _He understands, which just confirms that he's smarter, and probably less innocent that he comes across as. _

"Good. So what did you mean when you said it was true until I came into your life?"

"That's a complex question—" he starts to say, but then he hisses as I let the blade touch his cheek for a moment. "Okay, okay, I'll babble. When you came into my life, Yuthura, a powerful Sith who really cared about slavery, I saw an opportunity to implement a plan I've had since they made this slave into a slaver."

It's my turn to gasp. "Slave?"

"That was what I was trying to show you in the café. Do you remember the tattoo?"

"It was an Exchange tattoo."

"Yes, Yuthura, but you never looked beyond it to see what it covered, and I never got the chance to tell you."

Carefully, keeping my eyes upon him, I let my lightsabre dip, and then cut away the cloth that hides his tattoo. Gizka hisses when the side of his wrist beside his tattoo sizzles under my blade. The Exchange tattoo is there, just as I remembered it from last time, like a net full of snakes reaching out across the galaxy. Gizka's is more complicated that the normal tattoo, but it's hard to make out whether that means it's more elaborate or if there's a tattoo underneath. I check Gizka's two bodyguards with my senses, making sure that they are still unconscious and then I lean forward, keeping the Twi'lek clamped in my power.

It takes a few minutes to unravel what is part of the Exchange tattoo, and what is separate. In the end, it is the bland colouring that gives it away the tattoo underneath, the little patches of dull amidst the intricate lines and garish colours of the Exchange's mark on him.

"Fine," I snarl, straightening my back and looking him directly in the eyes, "so you were a slave before becoming a slaver. That just makes you worse in my book—"

"Yuthura," he says, his voice pleading. "I had little choice when they decided to put that tattoo on me. I was, and in many ways still am, a slave."

I snort. He believes what he says, but self-delusion doesn't excuse his actions. "You're the first slave I've seem his own pair of bodyguards and a house that big."

"Yeah, well they want to keep me alive and happy enough not to do anything stupid. Just like I help them do with my girls, you see? And I guess," he continues, his eyes looking up and left into the distance, "they also did something to my mind. There are… ideas… floating around in my head that I've never seen before and yet are quite familiar too."

"What kind of ideas?" I snap. "Better ways of enslaving valuable women perhaps? Ideas for your next book: _Slave to slaver in ten days or less_?"

"Ideas about a different kind of Exchange, for one. A plan or two for upsetting the order of things, and maybe creating some space for new leadership, stuff like—"

"And I imagine," I scoff, "you would be one of the people advancing into vacuum? Are you going to offer me a place by your side, now? Boring! You forget, slaver, that I'm a Sith. I've walked that road before, and left it."

"Frack, Yuthura," he says loudly, his face flushing with anger I have never sensed in him before, "of course I want some more damned power! I'm tired of serving others' whims and making them rich. And I'm tired of seeing poor saps like me and beautiful women like my girls licking the mud—"

A loud bang outside the door interrupts Gizka's growing tirade. Glancing quickly over at the door, I see that it has buckled slightly. "Explosives," I mutter, "and damned powerful ones. That door may not last as long as I thought."

When I look back at Gizka, it's clear he's gotten control of his emotions back. I open my mouth, determined to crack him again, but he speaks first.

"Look, Yuthura. You must know the Exchange and its rules well by now and so you must understand that I personally can't gain much more power. The Exchange and its thugs don't tolerate cripples with ambition." His words are bitter as he continues, mimicking another's voice. "Ruins the image of the gallant bandit, you know."

My eyes narrow as I regard him, but I wait. I can tell he's coming to the point.

But he doesn't speak, just looks at me, until another loud bang jolts him from his silent regard. "But you could establish yourself high up in the Exchange, Yuthura, and I could serve you."

"What!?" I shout, snapping my blade right under his chin once more.

"Yes, that's my 'plan,' the one you're after," he continues bitterly, ignoring my threatening weapon, "which I had hoped to set up the pieces for before talking about it with you. You, a Sith hellion, in charge, with me—"

"You crazy giz… what in the frack made you think I would ever help you take over the Exchange?" I shout.

"Because," Gizka shouts back, his eyes angry and sharp, "it's the only way you and I can make things better! You could take out as many slavers as you want and ten more will rush to fill each missing place. If you want to do something lasting about slavery, then you got to be in the position to change the rules, make it better—"

"You're out of your mind—"

"You're the most frackin' beautiful sight I've ever laid eyes on, but you're going to die having achieved nothing you stupid sch—"

"I'd rather die that be a slav—"

"You have the power and I know who we have to kill to—"

"Why did you try to kill me before then?" I snap.

"What?" he gasps, but then his eye ridges furrow. "Damn! Someone else is making some kind of move, and I don't know who." Then Gizka looks at me, deep in the eyes, and I can feel him stilling his thoughts, and trying to open his mind to me. "I would never do that, Yuthura."

"How are you hiding your lies from me!"

"I'm not ly—"

The bang that interrupts is even more powerful, shaking the room. The door groans, holding but bent deeply into the room. It's unlikely to hold for more than one more blast.

"Uthar's hairless balls," I swear. I'm confused by this new Gizka. Even though I was expecting there to be something harder and more devious in Gizka, this persona of his surprises me. There's an intelligence and a hard purpose lying within that broken body that was hidden before, one so far only barely revealed. The problem for me is that the caring is still there, and it still feels genuine. Gizka still wants to protect his girls, and the other slaves too I sense and I can't reconcile that with the hidden ruthlessness I've uncovered.

Gizka's silent now and I can feel the enforced patience within. _He's waiting for my decision_, I realize. And I have to decide, now, because the door's going to blow any moment now.

As a Sith, I follow my passion.

"I'm going to kill you," I shout at him, and his face turns resigned as he lifts his chin, exposing his neck to my blade.

I almost laugh at the almost comically exaggerated look of shock on his face as I release him from my power, but I can sense the next set of explosives being stacked against the door. "But I'll do it after we get out of here," I say, putting as much nastiness as I have left behind the grin I flash at him. "Wake Wisanu and Jahati up and get them ready. We need to get out of here and I think the only way is through the whole bunch of blaster fodder outside this door."

It took only a few moments for Wisanu and Jahati to regain consciousness, and even less for them to regain their composure. To my surprise, they accept our temporary alliance without a word, though they eye me suspiciously as they arm themselves.

"How long do we have?" Wisanu asks as she tucks a second blaster into the waistband of her pants.

It takes a moment to check the progress of the thugs outside through the Force. "Probably about two minutes," I say. "The explosives are ready, but they're waiting for someone to bring them a detonator."

"Could you set those explosives off now?" the Echani snaps back.

"I could try," I say, turning and walking quickly to the far corner. The rest join me in ducking behind Henada's foul-smelling, Hutt-size desk.

I've never tried using the Force to set off explosions before, but it turns out to be easy. As I apply an electric current to one of the small packages, a thunderous thump sounds outside and then the doors come flying in. One crashes against the wall and the other smashes against the desk, driving it back a meter and squishing the four of us against the wall.

For a moment, it's like everything is holding its breath; but then I hear a few groans from the outside corridor and the crackling of a fire to my right. And somewhere, coming closer, I feel more danger approaching

"Come on, let's go," I say, pushing the desk forward with the Force. It takes a few seconds for Gizka, Jahati, and Wisanu to gather themselves, moments I take to scan the area outside the door. There are bodies everywhere, but some of the thugs are still alive, hidden around corners waiting for us to emerge. "There are about ten of them outside," I say quietly. "They were probably already hiding when the bomb went off."

"Damn," swore Jahati, her head swivel from side to side as if listening, "they've probably got position on us too."

"Hold on a sec," Gizka whispers, "where's Gand?"

"Who?" I hiss.

"The Twi'lek you fried when you first entered," he says, looking from side to side.

"We don't have time for this…" but then I realize why he's asking. If the Twi'lek somehow survived my power, how did he get away without us seeing him?

The lightsabre leaps into my hand and blocks the first blaster shots even before I realize that one of the thugs has been sneaking closer to the room under the cover of the smoke outside. A few more shots follow, until I manage to deflect one into torso of my attacker, driving him into the floor.

"Stop playing Sith hero and get back here," hisses Gizka. "We need you to help us find the secret exit. Wisanu and Jahati can keep off any attackers for now."

"Can't find the body then?" I ask rhetorically as I back up and then duck behind the Hutt's desk. Gizka doesn't answer, and when I look at him, he's got his head buried in his hands and there's some kind of painful struggle going on within him.

"What's wrong--" I start to ask, but he waves away my question.

"Hurry," he grits between his teeth.

It takes a few minutes for me to locate the small trap door, by which time Wisanu and Jahati have killed three more attackers with their precise marksmanship. Unfortunately, twenty more have arrived outside. It will be only a matter of moments before they storm the room.

I finally find the secret exit underneath where the desk used to be. The panel fits seamlessly into the floor, but it pops up after I use the Force to open the bolt underneath it. With a flick of my mind, I push the desk forward until it rests between the room's entrance and trap door. "Come on," I say, crawling towards the opening.

The opened hatch looks down into a chute that bends around a corner, making it impossible to see where it leads. "Let me go first," says Jahati, trying to push me out of the way, "it might be a trap."

I push the Cathar back. "If it's a trap, then I'm more likely to survive it. Wait until I call you," I continue, stilling her protest using my harshest glare. Then, turning off my blade, I put my feet into the gap and slide down the chute.

Though the chute is initially steep, it levels off quickly and I find myself going sideways rather than down. Only after what must be twenty metres does it drop down once again and then I find myself landing on a soft mat in a dimly lit room.

The room seems empty when I look around. It looks like a storeroom, full of dusty furniture and boxes that look like they haven't been touched in at least a decade. Gizka and his crew arrive quickly after I call them, first Jahati, who catches her awkward boss before he can stumble, and then Wisanu, who lands gracefully despite the newly wounded arm she clutches to her side.

"Let's get out of here," I say, pointing towards the only door that the room seems to have.

"Not so fast, Yuthura," croaks a voice in the far corner and I whip around. Emerging from the shadows is the large Twi'lek male I thought I had killed.

_How does he know my name?_

"When they told me about a purple Twi'lek Force user hunting slavers," the Twi'lek sneers. "I knew it had to be you, Yuthura. I'm surprised you finally managed to tear yourself away from Uthar's… prick." His smile is cruel, but what draws my attention is the blood red double-bladed lightsabre he kindles.

"Go," I shout at Gizka, and Wisanu and Jahati pull the Twi'lek towards one of the nearby door. Surprisingly, Gand doesn't move to stop them, and then I sense the many figures lurking beyond this room. "Wait, stop, it's a trap," I yell.

"Come—" Gand starts to shout, even as his free hand whips out towards my three companions, but I smash him back against the wall with the Force.

"There's got be another route out—" I start to shout, but Gand returns the favour by sending my body flying. I smash into a pile of old chairs, which snap as I crash into them and I cry out as one piece stabs into my left arm.

"Found it," shouts Wisanu from the back. The Echani starts to say something else, but then door into the room crashes open and two Gamorreans thunder into the room. Their bodies quickly crash to the floor, sliding a metre forwards before finally resting, their heads a bloody mess from Jahati's quick shots.

After that, the room dissolves into chaos as blaster bolts pour through the opening. They are too many to block, and we all duck beneath the piles of furniture on our respective sides of the room. Gizka and his bodyguards are trying to return fire, but their protection is quickly being torn apart by the onslaught.

"Get out of here," I shout at them, using the Force to make the words a command to Wisanu and Jahati.

"No, wait—" Gizka pleads, but Jahati and Wisanu remorselessly pull him through the small opening along the back wall against the floor.

"Hold your fire!" Gand shouts after they disappear and the rain of bolts halts, leaving a stunning silence broken only by my shallow breathing and the sounds of the wreckage settling.

The Twi'lek walks quickly towards the escape hatch, but I dare not move from my shelter. The blasters could start again at any moment and that last command to Wisanu and Jahati drained the last remains of my strength. Reaching the opening in the wall, Gand pushes the flap above it down with his foot while keeping his eye on me. Smiling smugly, he slowly welds the flap shut with his blade. By the time he's finished, the nasty smile is too satisfied for my sake. And likely for my survival.

"I've been waiting a long time for this, Yuthura," Gand sneers, walking slowly towards me, lazily circling his blade.

I need to say something intelligent, or whatever else it takes to keep this Twi'lek Sith engaged until I can figure a way out of this mess, but I'm too tired to think straight. My body feels like it will fall down any second, my eyes can't focus, and my left arm and right side are throbbing so loud I can't understand why the room isn't shaking.

It would be so easy to give up now, but I don't want to die like this and… Gizka, Jahati, and Wisanu need every second they can get.

_I've spent everything I have… I just need a little energy… Frack Yuthura, you brainless slut!_ As subtly as I can, I reach upwards towards the room we abandoned above and start drawing the remains of life force from the bodies that litter its floor, hoping that the Sith Twi'lek will not detect what I'm doing.

When the first touch of stolen power wends its ugly way into my soul, my sight fills with black spots and I teeter where I'm squatting. I lose track of the Twi'lek for a moment as I push the light-headedness away. Luckily, he's enjoying his apparent victory, taking his time, moving from side to side in the middle of the room, moving his blade in lazy circles, its red light flashing on and off the nasty smile in his face.

"You think you're smart," I shout at him, hoping that his troops will hear, "but the Exchange will kill you when they find out what you did!"

"What I did?" Gand snorts, also more loudly than he needs to. "The Exchange is going to thank me for meting out their justice against Henada so swiftly."

"They're smarter than that," I scoff after a pause, long enough that Gand's eye ridges start to come together. The power is still coming too slowly, for though the dizziness is gone, my eyes can barely focus on his face through the furniture remains and it's all I can do to follow the conversation.

"Yes, they are," he says more quietly, the feeling of satisfaction growing inside him. "And that's why they won't move against me."

"Okay," I say, "what am I missing?"

"It's simple really," he says his smile growing bigger. "What's the one condition that would make me immune from the Exchange's reprisal?"

"This is the part," I snort, more weakly than I want, "where you're going to tell me that you made a deal with the Exchange, isn't it? You're too stupid to run this outfit." _No one ever respects the intelligence of Twi'lek_.

The barb strikes home and Gand's face darkens. "They don't care who runs Henada's business. All they want is you, dead!"

"Oh, I'm sure they want me dead, but they're business people, fool." _Force, just a little more time._ "And to let anyone get away with killing their product isn't good for business. Even if you do manage to kill me, you'll be dead moments after I hit the floor." The growing contempt I feel for the Twi'lek strengthens me a bit more.

"You know nothing, slut. If you think to delay your death, forget about it." Gand pauses, then continues more slowly, his voice mocking me now, his confidence evident inside and out. "As for your… 'friends,' they won't get away, Yuthura. I built this escape route. I have more of my men waiting at each level. Your friends are either dead or captives by now."

Instinctively, I reach out with the Force to check, but I'm still too weak to sense beyond this room. _Don't give up!_ "Perhaps…" I respond, letting the words hang, "but I haven't heard any blaster fire. Have you?" I'm not sure why I'm caring so much about the Gizka, Wisanu and Jahati's welfare, but… _Force, let them be safe._

The Twi'lek pauses his slow stalking of me, frowns in concentration for a moment. "Clever, clever... They cut a hole in the chute and dropped into another room. I'll just have to tell—" Gand swears when I rip the radio out of his hand, slicing it in two as it sails towards me.

The men outside panic, and blaster bolts start flying at me again. I dive behind a nearby table while Gand shouts at his men to stop. It takes almost a minute for them to hear him, each second a precious reprieve that I use to draw energy from the corpses above to me more aggressively.

_But there's not enough left of them, and I'm still too weak to fight this battle._

"Back off, fools!" Gand shouts when all the shooting has stopped. "I will handle this one myself. Go find the other three, now!" The Rodians, Gamorreans, and Aqualish outside the room quickly shuffle away, though some only move out of sight, still too near for me to attack the Twi'lek and survive.

"You have fallen far indeed, _Master_," Gand sneers as he turns back to me, the arrogant smile returning to his face. "Reduced to mating with a cripple. How pathetic."

"That shit-eating slaver is not my mate," I shout back at him, almost jumping at him before I can control myself. The anger I feel brings more power, though still not enough to kill Gand. But I can direct it usefully. "As for being your 'master,'" I continue, willing myself to sound stronger, more casual. "I don't remember you. There were so many worms grovelling at my feet on Korriban that it was hard to remember who lived to lick my boots and who died under my heels."

The Twi'lek's face darkens momentarily, but then he chuckles, once again twirling his blade. "So there is a little life left in you after all. Perhaps I will let you live. My master was Uthar, schutta, and I find myself remembering what he told me about you."

Memories finally break through the fog in my brain. I finally remember the tall Twi'lek. He had been Uthar's new apprentice before Revan and I killed the Academy's headmaster. I remember his face leering at me over Uthar's constant smug expression, and the mocking bows as he let me into his master's room… _every night_.

"Perhaps I will let _you lick my boots_, Yuthura," Gand continues, bringing me back to the present, "but only after you please me. I don't want your lips dirty while they're polishing my blade."

"Perhaps I might," I drawl weakly, "if I could find it." I can feel the little composure I have unravelling, replaced by Uthar's sneering face as I undress him. More painful memories, ones I've suppressed since leaving the Academy, now threaten to emerge and it's all I can do to keep a part of my mind focused on the now.

"Is that the best you can come up with, Yuthura?" the Twi'lek sighs.

I'm being too weak, I realize, cowering behind the furniture. I can sense Gand's interest failing. And in acting weak, I'm also undermining my own strength, allowing the sense of impending failure to sap my own strength.

_I won't let this Uthar's-ass-licking, apprentice Sith pretender kill me this way! _I muster my will, calling on reserves I never knew I had, I pull myself up from my cowering crouch behind the furniture and force my gaze move slowly down and then back up his body. "I must admit that I'm out of practice when it comes to… ugly little boys who are still trying to figure out which end of their stick to hold."

"That's better. Yes, maybe I will keep you after all," he smiles, making a kissing face at me. What makes me shudder briefly before I control it, though, is the Force suppressor he pulls from a pouch in his belt. He twirls it around his finger, grinning nastily at me, waiting for my response. I choose silence, instead. Any response I make now will only further entrench the heart-deep fear that is gripping me.

Finally, Gand chuckles and wags the suppressor at me. "But I don't think I will need this device. Do you?" Again he pauses and again I do not answer, fear stealing any words I might utter. When the Twi'lek continues, his words drip with triumph and contempt. "Master Uthar told me how well you served him… and how _willingly_. He told me about how you enjoyed his domination, and that you gasped his name each and every time, and begged him for more."

"Liar," I scream, my hands flying to my head, my blade barely missing my lekku.

"Just before you," Gand leers, "'convinced' Revan to kill him, Master Uthar told me that he had grown tired of your eager surrenders. He was going to give you to me as my reward when I passed the last trials. Uthar figured that mastering you would be the right way to establish my ascendance to the status of his new protégé." The Twi'lek twirls his blade again, and then slowly mock strokes it. "He even showed me the techniques that he used to make your body betray you, slut. But you got lucky—"

"I will kill you too, little apprentice," I snarl, desperately stilling my knees which threaten to cave in.

"There is no Revan here to save you, schutta," he sneers, but then his smile turns triumphant, his voice thrums with command. "I can sense your weakness, Yuthura. You can not win this battle and… 'service' is something you know well." The Twi'lek gestures me towards him, reinforcing his next word with power. "Come."

I take a step forward involuntarily, then a second.

_Give in… You were born to serve strong men, Yuthura, _Gand's power whispers into my mind. _It will not be unpleasant. _Images flood my mind, of strong hands stroking my skin, awakening a slippery heat between my legs, which open to accept a hard member that slides in and out of my arching body. _This is what you were born for._

I take another step towards the large, forceful Twi'lek, and as my blade drops down. I lick my dry lips, and as I take one more step, I feel my nipples harden. _Gand is a fine male, and serving a Twi'lek would be better._ _I could do it again_. I take another step, and retract my lightsabre._ He's right. Fracking Uthar wasn't so bad. I enjoyed it. He knew how to make my body sing. _A new image fills my mind, a stronger memory this time, one I've repressed until now. I'm lying with Uthar, and his power and hands plays over my body, each complementing the other, creating currents of pleasure outside and in that make me gasp in excitement. I'm so wet, burning hot, every part of me alive, tingling, resplendent, and it doesn't matter that I know he's using me, toying with me. All I want is him inside of me, and I beg him until he gives in partially. Uthar's smile is triumphant as I moan without inhibition while he spears me with the hilt of his lightsabre.

Then the memory skips forward. Uthar is lying on his back, and I'm lazing on top of him, my body tired but quivering, still pleasantly swollen with the remains of satiated lust. My master is staring at me with those impenetrable eyes of his, but I can feel the cruelty well up in him.

When he speaks, each word he utters tears through my shattered soul, more painful than any lightsabre wound, and far worse, because I know they will not matter tomorrow night, when he desires me again. "No matter how hard you strive, Yuthura, or how much power you gain, your body will always be a slave to men's whims."

_No, not again!_ Anger replaces shame, flaring within me, ripping me out of remembrance and into the present battle. My fury fills me with power and, instinctively, I move to sever Gand's compulsion. But my instincts balk and I force myself to hold back. Instead, I allow Gand's power to take a deeper hold in me, let it make my body throb with desire and pull me forward towards the large Twi'lek. My hips sway seductively as I take the last steps, and the Twi'lek opens his arms as I step into them, tilting his head down to meet my upraised lips.

The kiss is hot and deep, and our bodies press tightly together, his rigid member grinding against my belly, my aching breasts mashed against his hard, broad chest. My breath is heavy when we finally break apart, and my eyes are half-lidded as I lick my lips, savouring the blood from my torn lip. Gand stares deeply into my eyes as his free hand wanders lazily down my front, cupping my breast as I gasp, trailing down my stomach and around to my ass before it pulls me hard against him again.

He is so strong, so commanding, that despite the anger within me I almost give in. But Uthar's words refuse to leave me; they are too deeply engraved into my soul.

"Come, Yuthura," Gand says, his voice husky and deep, "give me your blade and I will give you… mine."

"I will give you my lightsabre," I sigh, holding out the hilt of my lightsabre in my right hand, ignoring the pain in my left arm as it strokes the rigid beam in his pants. Gand smiles in satisfaction as he reaches for my weapon, but then he cries out in a shocked voice when I activate the blade, spearing him through his chest. "But I won't be needing yours," I continue, my voice soft as I rip my lightsabre sideways.

The blaster bolts from the corridor start flying towards me as the Twi'lek's body tumbles to the ground, and I dive to my left, frantically blocking the ones that come near. One gets through as I roll on the ground, clipping my left leg, but then I'm behind a thick table.

But the table won't last very long under the rain of blaster fire and I'm too wounded and too tired to hold out against the ten or so thugs now outside the room. And it feels… okay.

There's more that I want to do to cripple the Exchange, and there's also all that unfinished business with Gizka and his bodyguards, but… somehow, by resisting Gand's power I've gained a sense of completion and renewal. It's like I've finally shed something I've been carrying for too long.

_If I'm going to die, it won't be behind this desk._ The blaster fire outside intensifies as I gather the last remains of my power, preparing to fling the remains of the table towards the door as a prelude to a suicidal, limping charge. At the last moment, my fatigue-fogged brain realizes that the fire is no longer hitting my table. Reaching out with my senses is difficult, and all I get are fuzzy impressions but it's enough to tell me that a fierce battle is being waged in the corridors outside.

I was so ready to die, it's hard to think about escaping now, but there's something in me that grabs the chance and won't let go. Pointing my blade downwards, I start to cut a hole through the floor. It takes a long time, and to my surprise no one has killed me yet when the section of the floor finally falls to the ground below.

Looking down briefly, I find that the room below is dark, which means that I can't see whether there are people down there. My power can't tell me either; following the battle outside has taken my last strength. The last impressions I had from there was that Gand's troops were pushing their opponents back, so waiting in this room is not an option.

_Well, there's only one way to find out_, I sigh to myself as I pull myself through the ragged hole.

A small cry escapes me as I land when my left leg crumples, but to my surprise no one shoots me as I lay prone on the floor. Instead, I feel hands pull me up gently, even as a voice whispers in my ear, "Shh… it's Wisanu."

"What are you doing here," I hiss back as she half drags me towards a dark corner. "You're supposed to be gone by now."

"We got help," she says simply, increasing her pull on me so that I'm barely able to keep my balance as we shuffle across the room.

"You're help is losing."

"Not for long." I wait for her to explain, but she pushes open a small, half-hidden, door instead. The room we enter is also dark, and yet the Echani seems to know exactly where she's going. "Stairs," she whispers after a minute, and then she helps me hobble down them, into what must be the basement. The cool room we enter is empty, but I suspect it won't remain so for very long.

"Where are the others?" I ask.

"They'll be waiting. Now be quiet," she says curtly.

I don't like being ordered, even when I'm half-dead, but the pounding of feet above reveals the wisdom of her words. I bite my lips, holding back the harsh words I wanted to say, and then the cries that my wounds try to wring from me as we half-run, half-stumble across the floor.

Though it's hard to see, we seem to arrive at a place between two storage shelves. "Here," Wisanu mumbles, slapping the wall in front of us. A whooshing sounds nearby reveals a long dark corridor that flickers in light as lights within it come alive. As Wisanu and I stumble into it, we hear a muffled cry from above and then more pounding of feet and blaster fire.

We both turn instinctively towards the sound. The outlines of two figures seem to fly down the steps into the room. Torches flicker over their faces as their pursuers chase them, and the light is enough to reveal that the two leaping towards us are Gizka and Jahati.

"Come on," Wisanu exhorts them, drawing her blaster and shooting as even as more figures descend the stairs.

The fear I feel gives me a little power, and I use it to trip the figure in the lead, causing it and the ones behind to tumble over each other. It's just enough to slow them down. As I collapse to the ground, I see the boots of Jahati and Gizka fly by and hear the whoosh of a door closing. After that, all is darkness.

----------------------------

I'm not sure how long I've been out for when someone starts shaking me roughly and shouting, "Wake up, Yuthura."

"What?" I rasp, feebly trying to fend off the annoying hands. But they won't give up, and now there's two more voices insisting that I stir from the comfortable darkness from which I have been pulled.

"Okay, okay," I say finally, opening my eyes.

The sight of Gizka, Wisanu and Jahati, plus the half-hewn walls of the corridor, is enough to bring me back to the battle I had left behind. The three companions look almost as exhausted as I feel, and since I've been unconscious and the corridor looks different from before, I guess at least one of them has been carrying me.

When they see my eyes open, Wisanu and Jahati turn quickly away, positioning themselves a few metres away at a corner, with their blasters trained into the darkness beyond. Gizka remains, his plain face full of surprising concern, holding me up until I can do it myself.

It's obvious that we're still in trouble, but all my fuddled mind can do is evaluate the differences between Gizka and Gand. There's nothing to compare. Where Gand was handsome and brimming with confidence, Gizka is plain and uncertain. And yet, as his eyes search mine, I turn my gaze away, too uncomfortable to meet his eyes.

Even more unexpected is the mixed feeling of guilt and joy that seem to co-exist within my heart.

"…pull the corridor down?" I hear Gizka say, jolting me out of my thoughts.

"What?"

"Can you pull the corridor down behind us?" he repeats. "Gand's troops blasted the door about a minute ago and they'll be here soon."

"Not a chance," I groan, trying to pull myself up from the ground. "But I'll try anyway." Gizka moves behind me as I struggle up, his movements awkward as lifts me to my feet, but his arms surprisingly warm, comforting.

"Thanks," I say mechanically, confused as I turn to face him. Gizka gives me a small, uncertain grin, and my heart skips a beat.

"Fools," Jahati hisses.

I nod at her words. _Just when I thought I had freed myself from men, here I am getting all soft again for a maimed, untrustworthy, cannock-shit-eating, slave-trader._

"If you're going to try, now would be a good time," Gizka says, his face turning worried. As if to emphasize his words, Jahati lets out three quick shots and I hear at the muffled sounds of at least two bodies falling out of sight.

"I'm sorry, I don't think I can." I don't know what I look like now, but my body aches everywhere. Even worse, I'm still completely exhausted, not only physically but emotionally. There's nothing left within me to draw from—neither the concentration of the Jedi nor the passion of Sith. Not even the prospect of death can stir me sufficiently now.

"Cover me," Jahati says to Wisanu, touching her lover briefly on the shoulder before moving towards Gizka and I. "From what I understand," Jahati says, a twinkle in her eye, "you Sith draw power from your emotions, right?"

I nod, wondering why she's stating the obvious. Everyone knows that—it's in all the cheesy holovids that the film industry keeps putting out.

Jahati turns to Gizka and whispers in his ear. "What?" the Twi'lek exclaims, his face flushing and his eyes darting towards me. Jahati doesn't explain, instead dashing back to the corner where Wisanu is now shooting almost constantly. The wall behind them starts to flash red as our pursuers return fire.

I look back at Gizka, waiting for him to explain, but he just stands there, looking uncertain. "We don't have time for this," Wisanu hisses impatiently and I start to turn towards her. But I'm stopped by Gizka's hand. I turn towards him, my eye ridges raised in question, but then he draws me close, his lips mashing themselves awkwardly against mine.

Gand knew how to kiss a woman, and Uthar could make my body play any song he desired. This kiss, on the other hand, is terribly inelegant, and ill-timed, but I realize that it's the one that my heart has been waiting for all these eyes. I feel a song expand within my body, pushing outwards, brushing past webs of despair, pain, and self-hatred until my entire body thrums to its gentle, tender, rhythm. My fingers wrap around Gizka's neck and I can feel a part of me purr as I pull his face harder into mine, my lips clinging to his like they will never let go.

I gasp when Wisanu pulls us apart, when the pounding of my blood is replaced by the rapid screeching of blaster fire and Jahati's battle yell. Even then, I can't let go of the need within me, and I feel anger stir within me, and then flare when the Echani slaps me.

"Stop acting like a love struck virgin," the Echani yells at me, "and pull the damned walls down."

I want to rend Wisanu, because I know she's right. And because I know she's seen right through me, and knew how I would react.

I feel so exposed, open like I've never been before. _Are they__laughing at me, the pathetic Sith who can be manipulated so easily with a kiss? Was nothing of it real…?_ I can't tell, I'm too lost in emotions to focus.

Unconsciously, terribly, I gave up every last wall around my heart in that one kiss, forsook all the hard-won independence I had built out of the scraps that life leaves for me. I feel adrift, unsure, _needy_, like never before. I'm not sure there's anything left of me but this hollow feeling within my gut… A crescendo of rage, lust, vulnerability, shame, and fear swirling around each other dances through my soul like the deadly sand tornados on Tatooine.

Even Uthar, who uncovered and revelled in the weakest and most despicable parts of my self, did not hold the power over me that Gizka does now. I want to kill him, kill them all, and I can do it now. I could suck the life from them all, burn them from the inside with my rage, wipe away what they have done to me with one demonstration of a re-forged resolve, contempt, and power.

But I don't want to. I can't. _Because maybe Gizka meant it._

"You'll pay for this," I half-scream, half-sob at them.

"As long as we all get to live for a few moments longer," Jahati yells over the blasters, her face lit by the flares from the end of her blaster as she shoots.

Wild power burns within me now, easily enough to collapse the corridor between the rapidly approaching Exchange soldiers and ourselves, but that's too little, too tame to sate the chaos within. Instead, I turn towards the corridor and lift my hands above my shoulders. Reaching out, I find the Hutt's soldiers and fill their minds with fear and illusions, until they turn on each other in a frenzy of blaster fire and squealing death. And then, when all but one are dead and my anger is abated, just enough, I collapse the corridor to seal our escape. The ground around us shakes, rumbles, and then a wall of dirt flies down the corridor like a Tatooine sandstorm, covering us.

When we finally stop coughing, Gizka is the first to speak. "The Hutts are really going to come after us after this," he says softly as I wipe the dust out of my eyes.

"I think you should worry about me first," I snap, absently waving my hand and knocking his guards down with my power. I have to see Gizka's face. Though I expect the worse, and am already preparing myself for his contempt, I need to know whether that kiss meant anything to him.

But he turns away before I can read him, moves over to offer his hand to Jahati instead. And suddenly, the façade of strength I'm trying so hard to keep crumbles, and tears burn down my face like liquid fire.

"Look at me!" I cry, unable to stop myself, desperate in a way that I haven't been since I was six years old and watched Omeesh the Hutt's guards drag away my weeping mother.

Gizka's head snaps around, his mouth open in surprise even as his hand still grasps Jahati's. His eyes search mine. I wait for his contempt at my tears, but suddenly he is right in front of me, both hands cupping my cheeks as he looks me deeply in the eyes.

"How can you be crying for _me?_" he says quietly, the words coming hesitantly, his eyes sad, uncertain. "How can anyone so exquisite, and so powerful, shed tears for a crip—"

I put my palm over his mouth, stopping the words I know will come. Thankful, in a way, that he is treading ground so familiar. "Weakling, ugly, pathetic, coward," I whisper. "Words I have whispered to myself too often, when I'm alone, when the night is dark reigns and I can't block out the violations any more."

"But I'm—" he tries to say around my hand.

"You are beautiful to me," I interrupt, unable to stop the wonder in my voice as I finally realize that it's true. I've never thought of a man being beautiful before, never even considered it as a possibility, but here he is, in front of me. Weepy eyes and an ugly scar down the right cheek of his plain face, his broken right lekku hanging limply down the side of his head. A thin body that moves awkwardly because of his stiff right leg.

His shoulders draw up, as if he squares himself to meet a threat. Gently, pushing my hand off his mouth, he softly says, "And a slaver."

"Yes," I breathe, grasping his neck with my right hand, "and this doesn't mean I'm going to let you live or accept your offer." Before he can say anything else, I pull him face towards mine, kissing him gently on the lips. This time, the kiss is better, much better.

"Until we figure that out," I say, willing my voice not to tremble, "you're mine."

He doesn't say anything as he gently wipes away the tears away from my face.


End file.
